


Litklœði

by GoldTrimmedSpectacles



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BIG FLUFFY CONFESSION WITH ANGST, Canon Divergence - Thor (2011), Class Differences, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, Hints of Sexual Kinks, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Odin's A+ Parenting, Unrequited Love, flower symbolism, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldTrimmedSpectacles/pseuds/GoldTrimmedSpectacles
Summary: “And the sire promised that he would spend the rest of his days searching for the cure of the flower disease which took his friend. And he did find this cure, but not without a cost,” Frigga explained and stroked Loki’s head as the illusions vanished. “But now, when one is fraught with flowers in their chest, a völva can remove these flowers with seiðr – saving the victim’s life and removing the vines from their lungs.”The Allmother paused and looked at your small, childish face. Her smile was kind and full, but her eyes lay empty and sad. The knowledge of yet to come lay heavy on her features.“However, be warned my child, that with the removal of lung flowers the feelings of unrequited love will be removed too. As will any remaining trace of friendship. So be careful how you give your heart, my dear. You may never know what you could lose.”





	1. Auðit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I will be writing the realm names as written in original Old Norse; however, in English characters. So, if you notice Asgard written as _Asgardr _I do this as to follow Old Norse and to fit with the setting of this work.__
> 
> __**01.08.19: This work has been read through and adapted to allow the best fluency and punctuation possible. Thanks for sticking with me as I write the last chapter. I hope you enjoy the newly edited chapters ;)** _ _

The petals bloomed in winter.

 

Such violets had looked beautiful in the frosty evergreen of the palace gardens. You had picked the purple flowers as a child, smile wide and unabashed, and you enjoyed braiding them into your hair as an adult - flicking the thin sheet of ice off each small petal and numbing your skin. The cold did little but bite at your fingers and redden your palms from the frigid texture, leaving you unbothered and more annoyed at the numbness of your joints than the actual sharp sensation. Besides, it had been so long since they last bloomed in the gardens and who were you to complain over such a wonderful sight?

 

It was not strange that the Allmother had noticed that something was amiss. Her eyes always seemed to see things for what they could be rather than what they were. And much to your luck, she freed you from palace duties an hour early, shooing you off to collect flowers in the gardens. She had even ensured you that a lady so excited for the beginnings of spring was always allowed to enjoy the newly sprouting buds, whether the times were advantageous or not.

 

Her eyes always twinkled so warmly when the weather brightened. And on departing, she requested for you to keep an eye out for her youngest son – always knowing that wherever you might be, Loki would be sure to follow.

 

A flower was stolen from your hand.

 

A kiss replaced the petals.

 

_Her words stood true._

 

“Ah blóm, this is where you have been hiding today.” The young prince smiled and your heart tripped, watching as he tucked the stray violet behind one ear and matched the flowers residing behind your own. “I feared that you had finally been swayed by the proposal of joining Lord Valence’s harem of  _ladies_ ,” the sarcasm dripped from his tongue in buckets - acidic tones hidden under playful words - and pulled you forward into a friendly sway. 

 

“That you had fled the palace in search of your true love!” He teased with a growing smirk.

 

The man let you twirl away and caught your hand, preventing you from tumbling into a light gathering of snow.

 

“So, I am quite surprised to find you in Asgardr’s palace gardens rather than Vanaheimr’s luscious forests. Has my presence truly kept you safe from the lecherous hands of that swine?” Loki continued with eyes gleaming, delight evident as he smirked at your slightly ragged appearance – knowing full well that his impromptu dance had caught you entirely off-guard.

 

Bloody man.

 

You swiped at his hands good-naturedly, having understood the reference of his joke.

 

Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, youngest heir to the throne, was never one to hide his mischievous tendencies whilst in your presence. It had barely been a week since the young Asgardian prince had  _kindly_  stashed you away in the palace library, ensuring your distance from the slimy Vanir lord that had taken residence in Asgardr’s halls.

 

Loki had never taken kindly to men of higher esteems belittling the women of Asgardr, or women of any realm, truly. Neither did Thor Odinson. It was humbling to see the  _dark prince_ – you said lightly, knowing Loki’s loathe of the title – act so impertinently towards the Vanir Lord. Even pettishly tripping the man up at Asgardian feasts, always catching your eye with an exaggerated eyeroll and smirk.

 

He would never fail to exclaim, ‘ _My God, dear Valence. Have you no balance on those two plates called feet? Or is it your sudden favouritism for Asgardian boar that has thrown your balance off kilter? By Odin, do keep your balance or I fear you will squash all of the lovely maidens wishing to dance'_ whilst sipping at his wine. So, you were very much unsurprised that he had gone so far to steal you away from the pot-bellied lord. Loki had merely slid his hand over Lord Valence’s raised palm, obstructing the impolite man’s line of sight, and whisked you out onto the dancefloor without a moment’s notice.

 

His eyes had appeared iridescent in the ballroom’s lighting and you had never been so glad for Loki’s love of mischief. He had merely chuckled at your praise, whispering insults regarding the foul Vanir lord, and laughed each time you slapped his arm or smiled at a particularly clever insult.

 

No one batted an eye at the behaviour or your obvious difference in status. All of Asgardr had grown accustomed to the sight and often expected Loki and yourself to grace the ballroom floor. Refusing to dance with anyone whilst beside the other, and always whispering jokes or giggling at secretive comments. It was common when you were children, having clumsily waltzed the floor at five-hundred, and it was common now that you were adults.

 

“By Odin’s beard, why do you tease me so, Odinson? You are lucky that my position as your mother’s lady-in-waiting prohibits me from stabbing you. And indeed, dear friend, you nor that odious Valence have made a lasting impression on my soul,” you laughed and tucked another violet besides the one Loki had stolen. Your hand hovered there a moment longer than you meant. “For Lord Valence is tiresome in his manner and the way his  _hani_  leads him to women, much like a horse is led to water. Whilst you, dear Loki, are – “

 

“Outstanding. A true artist in his craft? Handsome? Oh, I know it must be handso - !”

 

You shoved a petal into his open mouth.

 

“I believe foolish fits the description more accurately.”

 

The manner in which Loki spluttered, pulling the soaked flower from his tongue and his eyes gleaming with delight, made you dash away whilst laughing. You knew Loki was never far behind in your game of chase.

 

It was strange to remember the beginnings of your time within palace walls, where everything had been overwhelming and new, and your twiny arms had been far too large for your small body at two hundred. Even stranger was to remember the beginnings of such a life-long friendship with the second prince of Asgardr. Loki had been naïve and young at that time, barely scraping the ages of three-hundred, and hiding in the hidden depths of his room and the palace libraries. Whereas you had been his junior by fifty years and challenged with the tasks of darting from room to room with books and cleaning supplies – greeting the shy child with warm smiles and excited proclamations of books and praise.

 

It was no surprise that you had been swept in and cared for by the palace staff. It was very much no surprise that you had eventually grown to claim Loki as your dearest and most beloved companion over the passing centuries.

 

Stranger was to see how the years had aged Loki and granted wisdom upon both of your old souls. His friendship granted you privileges with the Allmother and his remaining family, which you still came to find awkward and somewhat forced despite the thousand years under your belt, but you were glad to be positioned as a lady-in-waiting than an overworked maid.

 

And the Allmother? Well, she held your adoration as tightly as she held Loki’s.

 

“Woman, come back and face the consequences of your actions!”

 

You shrieked as Loki’s arms captured you from behind a pair of thick rose bushes – his talent for seiðr having claimed his victory this time.

 

“Put me down! Put me down, you oaf!”

 

His laughter grew more sinister, twirling in a circle as your dress drew up to your thighs. The tight grip of Loki’s hands on your waist did little to settle your shrieks of fear and laughter.

 

“My dear, dishevelled and pink suits you. Especially with the extra display of skin.”

 

You smacked his cheek lightly.

 

“Behave.”

 

He growled.

 

“Never.”

 

Loki proceeded to throw you onto the palace grass and race away whilst you cursed him out. His childish laughter outweighed his annoying actions, so you took up the chase in turn - glad to embrace the joy which once overshadowed the challenges of daily life.

 

“Odinson, either you come out or I’ll hide all of the library books. You believe me to be lying, however we both know I am perfectly petty enough to hide all encyclopaedias and every story lining the library shelves.”

 

Loki merely laughed louder. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was nightfall when you noticed the pangs in your chest and the slow increase of wheezes.

 

The growth of veins and petals had begun to line the cilia of your lungs and every breath drew pain throughout your chest. The idea of healers passed through your mind briefly whilst staring up at the ceiling in bed. The entwined membranes pushed down against your muscles and rib-shaking coughs did little to prevent the chest pains.

 

You choked as you felt something travel up from your lungs.

 

It stopped and you breathed out deeply.

 

The reoccurrence of pain continued over the next few days, especially in the presence of Loki and his mischievous acts. The prince cast you wary glances ever so often when a coughing fit overcame your body, but you waved off his worry and either stole his book or his pen, sometimes his helmet when he had returned from practice, which thoroughly distracted the prince before he could interrogate you further.

 

It was stupid.

 

It was naïve.

 

But your denial had already formed and all warning signs went unnoticed.

 

However, the denial stopped when you paused outside the Allmother’s chambers and a coughing fit overcame your shaking body. Pain erupted all along your sides, the cup of tea shattering upon the floor and shocks ripped your chest open, stretching the lungs wide - the foreign object travelling up your throat violently.

 

Blood-splattered flowers sat in your palm – more petals fluttering to the floor as your hand fell open.

 

The hand shook and your heart dropped.

 

Tears welled in your eyes.

 

Violets.

 

Full-flourished violets coated in blood and saliva.

 

_“Mother, will you please tell us the tale of the flower man?” Young Loki had asked once – his hand gripping yours as Frigga stroked his face sweetly. His hair had begun to grow unruly at four hundred and she had taken it upon herself to sweep the bangs from the young prince’s eyes._

 

_“The one about flowers in his chest?” You had asked, having overheard a similar story told in the depths of the palace’s servant quarters._

 

_“Yes, the one about the man’s love and lilies,” Loki smiled and squeezed your hand._

_“Yes, Allmother! Please tell us the tale of the flower man!”_

 

_“Of course I shall, my loves,” Frigga had announced kindly, her eyes warm and heavy with unbridled affection for her son and his best friend. She had pulled both you and Loki to her sides - hands settling upon her lap and allowing seiðr to flow from her palms in a wispy mass of gold. She giggled when both Loki and you leant closer to see the build of seiðr in her palms._

 

_A single figure stood on her hand as she began to recite the tale to the both of you.._

 

The memory hurt to relive.

 

_“There was once a young man of Asgardian descent, who was dear friends with a sire of the Midgardian royal court.” The figure danced with a newly formed man, who laced their hands together and twirled the pair in a circle. His hands swung out and his head tipped back in a silent laugh, all whilst the first figure continued their waltz with a large smile._

 

_“One day, the Asgardian man realised something vital to our story – “ The man paused in his dancing with the sire. “He had fallen in love with his friend.”_

 

_Comedic hearts flew around the man’s head and chest, which caused you and Loki to erupt into childish laughter._

 

 _“Alas, the man’s love was not returned and the sire he loved was in love with another.” Frigga created a young woman with her seiðr, which the sire separated from his friend for, and joined her side. Their hands locked in a soft embrace; their heads tipped together in a loving gaze._   _“And the Asgardian was forced to watch his friend fall in love with the woman, whilst he sat on the side, deeply in love with his friend but forced into silence for the sire’s happiness. And with this hidden love, the man felt pain in his chest and he coughed.” The man copied Frigga’s words and a flower landed in his golden hand._

 

_“In his hand sat a lily – his love’s favourite flower. And as his love grew deeper whilst his friend grew distant, the lilies grew larger and the Asgardian man began to cough them up more often until there was not a moment in the day when he did not feel the lilies bloom in his lungs and throat.”_

 

_Loki squeezed your hand once more, familiar with the story and overwhelmed by the sad tale._

 

_“And one day the man’s friend, the sire, came to him and said, “My dearest friend. The man whom I have trusted since my early days and who has been there since I could walk. I am to be wed to the best woman in the entirety of all the realms. Would you do me the honour of acting as my man of honour at our wedding?” And the man could do nothing but agree, for he loved the sire far too dearly to deny his request.”_

 

_Frigga created an illusion of the two men shaking hands._

 

_“But the day of the wedding came and the Asgardian stood as he watched the sire marry his one true love, whilst he stood and felt the last of the lilies bloom in his throat.” The illusion changed once more and you watched as lilies grew over the central man’s body, the vines twining his legs and arms together._

 

_“And when the wedding ceremony finished, the sire told his friend, “I am the happiest I have ever been, my dear friend. I hope that you will too, one day, find the person who completes your heart and fills your chest with butterflies.” And the Asgardian man nodded, feeling the pain in his chest build.”_

 

_“But the following day after the wedding, the sire sought out his dear friend in search of his companionship and to speak of the joyous wedding. But when the sire found his friend,” Frigga paused and you noticed the tears which had built in Loki’s eyes. “His friend had died in his sleep, a single lily blossoming between his lips, and the sire cried for he had been blind to his friend’s misdeeds and heartbroken state. And in his agony, the sire cursed the Gods, asking why his friend had not confessed his feelings – for the sire had always loved his friend, but knew not of his friend’s requited desire and had settled for the daughter of his father’s business fellow.”_

 

_You sniffled._

 

_“And the sire promised that he would spend the rest of his days searching for the cure of the flower disease which took his friend. And he did find this cure, but not without a cost,” Frigga explained and stroked Loki’s head as the illusions vanished. “But now, when one is fraught with flowers in their chest a völva can remove these flowers with seiðr – saving the victim’s life and removing the vines from their lungs.”_

 

_Frigga paused and looked at your small, childish face. Her smile was kind and full, but her eyes lay empty and sad. The knowledge of yet to come laden heavy upon her face._

 

_“However, be warned my child, that with the removal of lung flowers the feelings of unrequited love will be removed too. As will any remaining trace of friendship. So be careful how you give your heart, my dear. You may never know what you could lose.”_

_She kissed your forehead and the illusion faded from her palms._

 

Of course, it was violets. It had always been destined to be violets. All those times as a child -

 

The flower of  _'true love'._ How bitter the words tasted upon your tongue.

 

You wept silently over the petals that lay limply in your palm.

 

You knew who they belonged to. You would be stupid not to.

 

And you knew that your love would not steal the flowers from your chest.

 

That he could not cure you.

 

That he could not love you.

 

That Loki would not help you.

 

All factors fought against your love - class, education, status.

 

_Requited feelings._

 

And so, in the petals of your beloved’s unrequited love, you were destined to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Blóm** \- translation for flower, pronounced: _B-lo-m_  
>  **Hani** \- translation for cock, pronounced: _Ha-nee_
> 
> New day, new book!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter of Litklœði. It originated as a oneshot and slowly spiralled out of control. So, now it's a seven chaptered fic. But it allows me time between updates to work on Seiðmaðr, which is my biggest project right now.
> 
> 1\. The Reader is technically one of Frigga's _few_ ladies-in-waiting, but the phrase was too awkward to type, so I left the phrase as 'Frigga's lady-in-waiting' instead.
> 
> 2\. Y'all can probably guess this love isn't so unrequited. I mean, Loki doesn't act like a sweet loon with anyone. Come on. The boy is mad in love. However, that doesn't mean the Reader understands Loki's harboured feelings towards her _(or perhaps, she doesn't want to accept them)_
> 
> 3\. Remember that Frigga was raised by witches, guys. She can see into the future. She already knew what was about to go down before the Reader even understood what true love was.
> 
> 4\. I love comments!! Send me comments!! I will reply to every single one of them!!!
> 
> 5\. Find me on Tumblr: http://goldtrimmedspectacle.tumblr.com/
> 
> 6\. Buy me a kofi? - https://www.ko-fi.com/A045L7I


	2. Danzleikr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated! <3 They give me lots of inspiration to write more and to upload faster.
> 
> EDIT: corrected some spelling mistakes and weirdly phrased sentences.

“My dear, do help me with this pin, would you? It has been digging into my shoulder ever since the opening banquet,” Frigga called from your right and twisted to show the awkwardly placed clothing pin, pinning her blue gown tightly upon her shoulders. The sheened cloth was gorgeous in the halls low lighting, the flower patterns winding up from her feet and down her arms. And you smiled with a softly murmured  _‘of course, my queen’_ as the pin was removed and repined in a more appropriate place on her sleeve.

 

 

The palace was warmer now, the snow which had lain mere weeks ago gone and leaving dew-dripped leaves. Spring had fully begun and you could not be happier as the sleet was now replaced by blooming daisies in its place, all which had been swept up and braided into the Allmother’s cascading hair. The entanglement of flowers and ginger strands created waves of vines and waterfalls, all whilst a small tiara was slotted upon her thick hair and reflected a turquoise sheen.

 

 

Your chest lurched as another vine dug itself into your lung.

 

 

The palace had been alit with chatter and anticipation the last few weeks. The servants and maids waltzed in the servant chambers, giggles stifled by hands and shoulders as the excitement built, and the cooks practised their new recipes all throughout the palace until no hallway was safe from the sweet aroma of brisket and cake.

 

 

Your stomach churned at your prior escapade to the kitchens – followed close behind by Loki, whose eyes had glistened with mischief and absolute delight at the variety of treats that aligned the kitchen counters. He had gathered the treats with quick hands, cookies and cakes stuffed into large pockets as the cooks waved both you and him from the kitchens.

 

 

One or two yelled at Loki with thick southern accents.

 

 

He had cackled and grabbed your hand, pulling you through the twisting passages of the palace, much like he had done at five hundred when his mischief was high and poorly hidden. It was rare for his childish delight to replace the hidden angst which had built in the prior years.

 

 

The sight of Loki’s dishevelled hair and sly grin had left you breathless in more than one way.

 

 

You stifled a cough and smiled.

 

 

“You look gorgeous, Allmother. I fear you will push the Allfather into an Odinsleep with your mere presence.”

 

 

The queen beamed at your compliment, eyes warm with motherly affection, and she squeezed your hand as another one of her ladies-in-waiting fluttered up in their own attire.

 

 

“As do you, my love. I dare say that we will both push the men into fits with our gorgeous appearances. Maybe even cardiac arrest if we speak to them,” Frigga teased and you laughed along with the two other women that had joined your small entourage. The expulsion of air caused your chest to throb and you gulped thickly, feeling a petal press against the back of your throat.

 

 

“Perhaps we should make our way to the ballroom, my queen?” The taller of two, a woman named Maarit, beckoned and Frigga agreed goodhumoredly. She led your small party away from her quarters and down the golden walls of the Royal Quarters.

 

 

Each step you took seemed forced and as you passed a mirror, you turned away – ignoring the slightness of your figure in recent days. The sunken pallor of your skin and the dark veins around your arms and fingers were too much to bear on such a joyous day and completely unfitting for such a wonderful spring evening. You refused to darken the day with tales of woe and grief, having accepted your fate when the first violet fell from your lips.

 

 

Making polite chatter with the Allmother and her two other ladies, you wept inwardly over the unkind fate that had been handed into your young arms. The Gods had seen your chubby cheeks and unkempt hair and decided that your life would be kept short by an ailment appropriate for unfit lovers, such as the Midgardian pair, Romeo and Juliet – then banished from the arms of the Æsir and into the clutches of Hela before your two-thousandth name day.

 

 

“Dear child, those violets look wonderful in your hair. They truly suit your dress and bracelet,” Maarit smiled and linked her arm with yours. Her oval face was a true blend of delight and beauty as she fawned over your hair like a mother would to her child, and her lips were painted pink to match the shimmery red frock that flowed amongst her ankles.

 

 

“Thank you, Maarit. You look beautiful also.”

 

 

The violets that streamed through your hair had been Frigga’s request rather than your own. In honour of the new flowers and life within the garden, Frigga had servants fetch flowers and entwined each petal into her ladies’ hair softly and with utter care.

 

 

You tried to ignore the stinging pain from the violets digging deeper into your scalp.

 

 

A deep breath.

 

 

 _Smile_.

 

 

It had been difficult to hide your growing ailment as each day passed. Whether you were inside with the Allmother, or outside by yourself, there always seemed to be a constant factor in where you stood. Wherever you moved, wherever you sat to calm your unease, your heart would yearn for the arms of another. For the touch of his hands against your skin. His lips against your own. His body pressed tightly against your heat.

 

 

You tried to ignore the physical and mental yearning for the young prince whenever you could, but with the violent retching of petals and blood each night, and your loss of appetite and will to bear such pain – all you could do was cry yourself to sleep. Arms tangled in your hair and legs drawn close to your chest, filling the absence of Loki’s body with your own body heat as the hours ticked by.

 

  

You were ashamed to admit that as the days grew longer and your ailment grew worse, there were hours where you would merely lie on the floor with blood crusting over your lips and petals stuck to the damped tears on your skin.

 

 

Loki had noticed your obvious discomfort – his words soft and gentle unlike his snide remarks and growls directed at Thor and the warrior trio. You had waved his words off, knowing full well that what you were experiencing could not be spoken aloud. But Loki’s eyes, pleading and wet, had only added more hurt to the pain you were experiencing. So, you laughed and jested about the recent energy in the palace – your constant too-and-fro tasks as a servant taking their toll, which he frowned at.

 

 

You were unsurprised to find Frigga only allowed you to work until early afternoon rather than late evening.

 

 

However, your most dreaded experience had been when your ailment had almost been revealed to Loki as you sat reading a book, silent as the library clock chimed seven and the prince opened another novel to read. His eyes had met yours from above the book’s cover, eyebrows raised and eyes crinkled with fondness from your dazed expression.

 

 

There had been whispered words – lost by your fraught memories.

 

 

Loki had spoken of a poet. He had recited a line so crude and brash that you could do nothing but laugh, amused that his book held the dirtiest of ballads to ever grace Asgardr’s planes.

 

 

His voice had been low and husked. Lines layered by his honeyed tongue and his eyes boring into yours as the lines of crude verse turned to paragraphs of lovelorn desire and hot flushes. There were a few where your heart threatened to burst from your chest and melt on the tongue which Loki used to soothe your yearning with his cloying lyrics.

 

 

You had been lucky that Loki was drawn from his verse by his brother, who barged into the library with his hammer in hand and yelling for Loki to join him on a hunt. The brash man had greeted you warmly, lips pressed to your hand quickly and softly, eyes dancing with mirth as Thor promised the quick return of his brother. Unharmed, unlike the last time.

 

 

Loki had moaned and howled like a child, his opinion engraved in stone as Thor dragged him from the warmth of your calm company, all whilst Loki glared daggers at the larger of the pair. His eyes had fluttered to you and your heart warmed with the sweet kiss Loki laid on your palm, lingering there a moment longer than you thought was polite, and he walked away.

 

 

As the door swung shut, violets racked themselves up from your chest, finally free after all your time enraptured by Loki’s company. The pain was sharp and grew fiercer with every cough, your throat feeling swollen and tight as the petals sealed your airways and passed again and again.

 

 

Your body copied the actions of your past and you discreetly pulled a cloth from your sleeve, allowing the small petals to fall and stay hidden in the white fabric. All whilst Maarit, the Allmother and Ona, the eldest of Frigga’s ladies, remained none the wiser. Yet, you failed to notice the sharp look the Allmother sent your way.

 

 

“Do you believe the princes will find wives at this ball, dear blóm?”

 

 

Your lungs ached.

 

 

“Perhaps, Maarit. I know that Thor has calmed since his trip to Midgard, but there is always something rather sad in his eyes,” your smile grew sad, “Have you noticed? He does not spend as much time hunting or fighting as he once did, but rather at the Bifrost with Heimdall and travelling the realms.”

 

 

She hummed and remained silent – satisfied with your reaffirmation and the extravagant decorations of the main hall.

 

 

The three ladies split as Maarit fluttered towards an old couple by the door, who welcomed her with open arms and excited smiles, all whilst gushing over how beautiful she had grown. Ona disappeared also, hiding in the throngs of Æsir and their intoxicated dancing. Frigga too pulled away and joined the Allfather at his throne.

 

 

You smiled as she kissed his cheek and Odin took her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

 

 

“I would know those flowers anywhere. Where have you been today, dear blóm?”

 

 

Your body seized up and a loud swallow flooded your ears.

 

 

“Loki.” He smiled at your acknowledgement and bowed low, hand elevated much to your amusement.

 

 

“At your disposal, dear fae,” the prince jested and rose from his deep bow, arm still waiting for your hand. You did as he wished and linked your fingers together. “Now, where have you been hiding?  Have you been creeping into the kitchens to steal more fairy cakes?”

 

 

You smacked his arm.

 

 

“You are the sole mischief maker here, Odinson. I am but a misguided accomplice – swayed by your sugar-coated words and lavish poetry.”

 

 

He took the bait with a wolfish smirk. “My sugar-coated words?” Loki pulled you onto the dancefloor and you were quickly swept into the intricate dance of the Asgardian court, used to the quick pace and extravagant turns. “Perhaps I should sway you with a sweet ballad. Then I may be able to convince you to follow every one of my  _dangerous_  plans.” His demeanour grew dark and dangerous but you smirked in turn, which transformed into a smile as Loki twirled you around another couple.

 

 

“I have heard you sing, Loki,” you whispered in a hushed tone, “It is horrendous.”

 

 

He laughed and pulled you closer, arms weaving around your waist.

 

 

“Now I know that is a lie. You fail to remember that I am both the God of mischief and lies, dear friend.”

 

 

Your throat tickled.

 

 

“I have never forgotten.” Loki rolled his eyes and twirled you out with one hand, pulling you back to replicate the familiar dance moves of the other couples. His hand remained firmly in place as you waltzed under a pair of raised arms and the two of you pulled away, swaying behind another standing couple and re-joining with flared skirts and fast feet.

 

 

Your head fell back as Loki led you in a tight twirl, chests pressed tightly together and an arm clutching your body close to his own.

 

 

“Indeed, dear blóm. I know you have not.”

 

 

Pulling yourself up, your eyes caught Loki’s and the skin around his eyes crinkled from his wide smile. The thick eyelashes fluttered as Loki scanned your features, eyes swirling with something incomprehensible under the bright lanterns, and his voice washed over you - a flush of warmth filling your chest and rushing into your stomach. His forehead pressed against yours and your breath hitched. Loki’s eyes fell shut as the final chords were strummed and fell silent. The music died down and you waltzed with the prince a moment longer until the strings finished. His hands hovered over your hips, fingers digging deep into the skin until they simply slipped from the light fabric and back to his sides. You smiled with watery eyes, chest heaving slightly in a futile attempt to expel the suffocating petals.

 

 

Clapping filled the lingering silence and Loki’s eyes opened – stepping back with quick grace and his hand holding yours up in the appropriate walking position. He smirked as you were led off the dancefloor with the other couples, none-the-wiser to the position he had left you in.

 

 

The hall filled with chatter once more.

 

 

 “Dance or drink?”

 

 

You choked out a half-hearted cough and swallowed.

 

 

“Pardon?”

 

 

Loki quirked an eyebrow and his hand ran to the crook of your elbow – pulling it to slot with his own.

 

 

“Would you like to dance again or would a drink be preferred at this current time?”

 

 

His lips tugged up into a smirk once more.

 

 

You flailed.

 

 

“A drink would be appreciated.”

 

 

He nodded and dropped your arm, not without lavishing your palm with a soft kiss, and moved to sashay through the parting sea of common people and members of the Royal court. It was fascinating to watch how men tripped over themselves in their attempts to avoid Loki’s line of sight. It was less fascinating to watch women dressed in emerald gowns chatter excitedly as the man walked past, their dark eyes alight with lust and conniving spirts.

 

 

You felt a stab.

 

 

Vines grabbed at your throat.

 

 

A gasp fell from your lips and another petal tumbled onto your dress.

 

 

You stumbled slightly, hands trying to grasp the nearby banquet table. You were thankful when another pair of arms caught your waist, hands splayed across the chest of another man as the pain was temporarily subdued and your eyes caught the attention of a blue pair. They seemed to smile by themselves.

 

 

“Ah,” your name tumbled from the man’s lips kindly and he helped you balance yourself. “I am surprised to see you here. Away from the arms of Prince Loki, that is.” He picked the petal from your dress, placing it on top of your head to match the other violets present there.

 

 

 “Perfect – a true princess.”

 

 

“Tamas.” Your smile widened at the friendly servant boy, glad to see a familiar face amongst the crowd, and ignoring the slight remaining twinge in your chest. All panic was temporarily forgotten in your tumble. “Thank you. It appears that without our trusted prince, I cannot keep myself up straight,” you joked weakly and stood back up. 

 

 

Tamas was one of two twins working as servants within the Asgardian palace. He stood proudly at barely nine hundred and his shirt had been freshly washed and ironed, but the armour he adorned was old and dented in places. There was obvious pride in how he wore the breastplate, despite its large size on his wiry figure. Yet despite all this, he never failed to call you out on the wrongdoings of both you and Loki. Always teasing whenever the option was presented.

  

 

You faltered at your own words.

 

 

“Where is your brother?”

 

 

The younger twin scanned the crowds and shrugged good-naturedly, unbothered by his brother’s absence for it was a common occurrence in the palace.

 

 

“Somewhere. You know how Bas is. Never one to stand with large crowds. I say he is probably hiding in the kitchens with the cook and their help. No thanks to your earlier escapades, I am sure.”

 

 

You failed to hide your mortified blush. At least he had not mentioned the chocolate paste incident.

 

 

 “Uhm,” you tried to change the topic, “are you enjoying tonight’s activities, Tamas?”

 

 

The boy suddenly blushed in turn and smiled, eyes wavering from you and onto a young maiden across the hall.

 

_Ah_.

 

 

Having known Tamas from his younger years, your heart fluttered in delight at his fancy. You could not deny that Tamas looked very dashing for his age and your heart melted further with his sway of affection. The mortification faded as he laughed sweetly and squeezed your arm, much like a younger brother would do.

 

 

“I see that you are.”

 

 

“Yes, you are quite right. I am. Moreso than I originally thought, perhaps.”

 

 

“And did you originally believe the spring ball would be dull then? With all our hard work? Tamas, careful with your words or else we shall be expelled from the ball and polite company!” You chimed in playfully, eyes glancing back amidst the crowds in search of other servants and lords.

 

 

“Oh shush,  _krútt._ Go find your prince and halt your teasing words.” His smiled widened and you slapped his shoulder lightly.

 

 

“He is not mine - you must not say so. Now, do tell me more of this young woman that has taken your fancy.”

 

 

The boy laughed again, eyes alive with mirth and doubt.

 

 

“Of course not. And her name is Beatrix – “

 

 

You faltered at the lilt in his voice.

 

 

“Lovely. What is her last name?”

 

 

“Valdottir.”

 

 

“And what does she do?”

 

 

“She is a handmaiden for the guest and extended family quarters. So, she does not see much action, however, she does get a lovely lady ever so often. It excites her greatly.”

 

 

"Verily - "

 

 

A new voice interrupted your reply.

 

 

“What a fascinating woman she must be." You turned to glance at Loki. "Although, I can imagine that she would grow tired of Asgardian ladies. There are few women of immense interest in our court, so I can believe that our otherworldly guests would be far more interesting than the many ladies that grace the halls of Asgardr.” An arm rested itself around your waist and your hip was pulled to rest firmly against the newcomer’s own.

 

 

Tamas faltered.

 

 

“Your highness,” he bowed.

 

 

“Loki – “ a glass was placed in your open hand.

 

 

“That is crediting not Lady Sif and our dear blóm here.” Loki’s hand tugged your own up to his lips. His eyes churned with great joy at the servant boy’s nervous disposition, glad to have interrupted the conversation for slight teasing, and pressed a light kiss to your inner wrist. “For all of Asgardr would be far duller without her presence, I am sure.”

 

 

Tamas shifted.

 

 

You pulled your arm away to nurse the glass with both hands – heart pounding wildly at the friendly gesture. Your stomach recoiled at the thought and you could feel the flowers pressing against your throat. Your cloth was used once more to hide the growing flowers.

 

 

“Behave.”

 

 

“When have I ever been known to behave, dear?”

 

 

You sent the mischievous God a warning look, which he took and nodded with slight reluctance. The arm around your waist tightened, showing how Loki had acknowledged his patronising tone and the slight cut of his tongue. A silent apology.

 

 

Your attention swayed back to the young boy.

 

 

“Tamas, have you asked Beatrix to dance?”

 

 

The boy shifted again and shook his head ‘no’.

 

 

“I have not. She seems quite happy dancing with her sisters and brother right now. I would hate to intrude.”

 

 

“I am sure she would not mind the intrusion, especially if you are close friends.”

 

 

Loki choked on his drink.

 

 

“Alas, we are but acquaintances,” his smile turned disheartened as the prince coughed. “It would be rude to interrupt her enjoyment.”

 

 

You frowned.

 

 

“Tamas, fret not. I’m sure there will come a time when the option will arise. For the time being, I am quite certain that I am not engaged.” Tamas laughed at your teasing and his eyes retreated from their sorrowful nature, reflecting the exhilaration of your joke.

 

 

“A lady asking for my hand in a dance? How times have changed since I was a little boy.” He teased.

 

 

“Indeed, what does that mean, dear Tamas? I am sure you have had many a lady call for you to sweep them off their feet. Do not lie!”

 

 

Tamas and you laughed.

 

 

“As much as I believe it would be delightful to watch you two dance – “ Loki cut into the conversation abruptly, voice somewhat icy – “I would not dally with your interests as there has been a stable boy watching your mistress for the past hour.” Tamas’ face fell and followed the direction in which the prince tipped his glass. You could feel Loki’s other hand squeezing your side. “There is no time like the present, boy. I would woo her with a dance now,” Loki announced with a dismissive tone, although his eyes were wide with delight and something darker, “rather than risk it for a later time when she is unavailable to court.”

 

 

Tamas moved, unnerved by the God’s sudden change in tone.

 

 

He glanced at your face.

 

 

“Well… If you believe it would do me well, Prince Loki. Would you excuse me?”

 

 

Loki waved his hand.

 

 

“I am here to enjoy myself, sveinn. You need not my permission to woo a girl. Good luck and do not trip on her feet.” He smirked at the last jab and took another swig of mead.

 

 

You exchanged an exasperated guise with Tamas, who beamed shyly with a hidden roll of his eyes, and waved as the young man sped his way through the growing crowds. You watched until he met Beatrix on the other side of the ballroom and abashed, gifted her his hand, which she took with a bright smile. The young girl seemed even more thrilled than Tamas to have been asked to dance by his side.

 

 

“Did you truly have to tease him so?”

 

 

Loki’s fingers rubbed your side sweetly, reminding you of his light grasp, and hummed.

 

 

“Granted, my previous words were poor and I apologise for that. I know that you do not appreciate me insulting the other women of Asgardr, especially as there are – in your words  _‘very lovely and intelligent women around each corner’_.  Not to mention, Mother would ban me from her reading room. However, know that  _you_  are one of my most favoured ladies,” he teased and smirked at your dismayed expression – ignoring the twinge of pain that came with the honeyed phrase. “But my other words, I cannot hide my shame for there is none,” Loki grinned and you could not help but copy him. “He clearly likes the maid, so I wished for him to not dally with his affections and ask her to dance before another suitor swept themselves into her circle. Besides, I do believe your next dance is mine.”

 

 

 _Pain_.

 

 

“No matter how much you wish to hide that soft heart of yours, you are not as sly as perceived, dear trickster. I quite enjoy these displays of odd kindness.”

 

 

“Oh really?” Loki mocked with raised eyebrows. “Well, perhaps I should grant another kindness upon your wearied soul, dear.” His arm fell away and your glasses lay forgotten on a stray table as the prince pulled you from the busied dance and into Asgardr’s dimly lit halls. The grand doors slammed shut and his hand engulfed your fingers, thumb brushing lightly over your skin. An eruption of goosebumps coated your arm and your heart thumped so wildly, it hurt to breathe. His presence was overstimulating in its mere existence and you felt faint with how his face looked so chiselled and royal in the shadows.

 

 

“My wearied soul?”

 

 

Your voice sounded so small in the catacombic building.

 

 

Loki slowed his pace to a slow walk, keeping your body close and eyes scanning your face. He turned away and kept walking – hand squeezing yours in a familiar gesture.

 

 

“You act as if I would not notice the changes to your figure and skin, dear.” He traced your wrist for emphasis. “If anyone were to notice your sudden tiredness and your reliance on that clothed handkerchief up your sleeve, it would be me,” Loki drawled out and squeezed your hand again. You walked through a set of open doors. "I refrained from mentioning such things to you after our time in the library and your adamant response on your wellness. But, my dearest friend,” Loki paused at the next junction of hallways. He turned to you. “I cannot sit quietly by your side if you are unwell. It is both against my upbringing and my blatant adoration for you as an admirer and as a most beloved companion.”

 

 

He caressed both hands in his own and eyed the open corridors, pulling your body into an alcove hidden by the servant quarters and away from prying eyes.

 

 

The lack of room had your lungs in stitches.

 

 

“Blóm, what ails you? Tell me and let the healers erase your pain.”

 

 

Your breath hitched.

 

 

 _Panic_.

 

 

“Loki, please. Now is not the time – “ You pushed at his chest as to escape his grasp, but fell prey to your own desire to be near him. Your pushes were far weaker than you would care to admit.

 

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

 

“What? No – “

 

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

 

“No, it does no – “

 

 

 _“Do not lie to me.”_ His hands grew tight around your wrists but fell a mere moment after. Apologetic in the manner which Loki caressed your arms.

 

 

“Loki, I am not lying.” You knew the words fell flat. “It is a mere passing illness. Nothing more. I am sure the healers could have it removed from my system more quickly, yes, but it is nothing too important to fret over.”

 

 

The prince’s scowl deepened.

 

 

Silence crept into the conversation.

 

 

Loki’s eyes seemed so expressive in the dark hallways – glistening with fear and worry; however, hidden under an overlying film of exasperation and anger. The green of his irises churned with an elixir of moss and seiðr. His pale skin formed a glowing mass of regal air and natural born beauty.

 

 

His hand collected your own once more and took a step closer.

 

 

“Dear.” The call beckoned you to meet his eyes.

 

 

Loki’s face was so soft. So vulnerable when compared to the guarded façade he carried most hours of the day.

 

 

“What ails you?” The voice whispered, heart-throbbing and pleading in nature.

 

 

The flowers stirred.

 

 

You inched closer to Loki’s body and let your hands drop. They slipped around his waist and your head fell to rest against Loki’s shoulder. The pressure of his chin on your head was a welcomed comfort despite the fraught tension of the conversation.

 

 

A sigh.

 

 

Loki’s hand dug into your hair and pulled the violets from each strand.

 

 

“Tell me, blóm.”

 

 

His hand ran through the loose strands.

 

 

Your head rose and his hand cupped your lower jaw, lips inches apart.

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

“Loki! There you are.”

 

 

Your bodies pulled away from each other simultaneously. Loki’s hand fell to his side, violet still in hand, and you noticed how his jaw strained with innate tension. His eyes met yours in the darkness and the tension eased ever-so-slightly, which you appreciated and smiled in turn.

 

 

He turned.

 

 

“What is it, Thor? I do believe the lady and I were busy with our trip to the library.”

 

 

The larger of the two princes frowned as he walked closer and rolled his eyes. His hand gripped yours in a brotherly manner, squeezing the skin in a far harsher grip then Loki would do, and pulled you from the hidden alcove. Thor then slapped Loki’s shoulder in a show of brotherly affection and strength.

 

 

Loki stumbled.

 

 

“Ah, the party has grown dull then. I am not surprised that our dear lady and you, Loki, would be retreating to the library after a tiresome evening. At least the feast was entertaining, was it not?”

 

 

Your eyes met Loki’s once more and his smirk was poorly hidden.

 

 

There had been more than a few ‘ _unfortunate’_  instances during the meal, that was certain.

 

 

“Indeed. The poor prince of Eslöv. How he had looked so dapper in that violet waistcoat.”

 

 

Thor ignored the passing remark.

 

 

“Loki, Father requests your presence in the main hall. He did not tell me what for, so I imagine it is a surprise. He was quite adamant for your presence though. There was a smart-looking woman by his side too. I believe she was the heiress of the Innangard kingdom – Vanaheimr’s main ruling sector.”

 

 

Loki tutted in distaste.

 

 

“Princess Catriona. A distant cousin of mothers.” His body tensed. “We have met before – it was not pleasant.”

 

 

Your hand slipped between Loki’s fingers and grounded his thoughts.

 

 

A small smile flooded his features.

 

 

“Well, if that is the case then I am unsure why Father would require your presence. However, he expressed its great urgency, so I think it best if we make haste to the ballroom. Lady blóm, would you give me the pleasure of your arm? It is best if Loki were to arrive after us.”

 

 

You nodded, understanding the courtesy which Thor offered, and slipped from Loki’s fingers - heart breaking at the loss of contact and yearning for his touch once more. For more contact, more stimulation of his skin on yours.

 

 

His caresses.

 

 

His kisses –

 

 

Your body recoiled and a petal grazed the roof of your mouth.

 

 

“We will see you inside, brother. It would be unwise to dawdle.”

 

 

Your eyes caught Loki’s one last time. He scowled at Thor and groaned rather impertinently, running a hand through his hair and realising the flower in hand.

 

 

A pause.

 

 

“Fine. But give me one last moment before I have to face Odin’s wrath.”

 

 

Loki stepped forward and his hand fell back upon your cheek. His fingers tilted your head up and stroked the lines of your cheeks down to your lips, where he paused temporarily and all attention fell from Thor. His lips were thin but tempting in the darkened hallway. The slight ruffled nature of his hair, which had grown rather long since Thor’s return from Midgardr, fell delicately in front of his face and obscured your view of Loki’s eyes.

 

 

The flower was tucked behind your ear and he smirked.

 

 

A soft ‘ _lovely’_  passed his lips and his hand fell away.

 

 

You faulted and grabbed the offending palm.

 

 

Thor remained silent during the exchange and watched with on-growing fascination at the soft display of affection. So unfamiliar with this side of Loki – so soft and vulnerable and new – his mannerisms were so unlike that which Loki displayed at the dining table, that is unless it was their Mother or a particularly kind maid or cook. And the way you handled the turmoiled prince, Thor wondered if he even knew his brother at all – so used to his yells and sarcastic wit, but unfamiliar with his dazed expression of admiration and something he only saw on the faces of young maidens faced with their first love.

 

 

Loki froze at your sudden touch and your eyes widened with delayed panic. His pupils dilated as you pulled the hand to your lips and proceeded with a flushed kiss pressed to the skin connecting Loki’s thumb to his palm. He exhaled a breath of air and watched as you pulled away, eyes lidded and cheeks pink with exhilaration.

 

 

“Gorgeous.”

 

 

His breath stuttered at your word and you withdrew, afraid of overstepping in your moment of weakness, and mortified by your blatant expression of admiration.

 

 

The moment broke and you promptly linked arms with Thor. “We will see you after the announcement, Loki.” Your voice wavered. Thor took the moment to pull you away from the enraptured stare of the dark prince. You were lucky that he spoke none of the dizzying encounter and rather, chose to concentrate on the dull ache that, with every step, grew deeper and heavier.

 

 

Drawing further away from the flower’s love, you glanced a quick look back at Loki.

 

 

He stood there cradling his palm.

 

 

The flowers bloomed once more.

 

 

You turned back and your eyes steeled.

 

 

What ever happened, at least you had pressed one kiss to your beloved’s skin.

 

 

It was enough.

 

 

It was  _enough_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sveinn** \- translation: boy, pronounced: _s-v-ein_
> 
> 1\. More Loki fluff. More Loki in general. Just a longer chapter with Loki! Hope you enjoyed it, especially as things will be going downhill soon ;) But also, I just wanted to add some more of our _mischevious_ God because we all know that if Loki _was_ in love, he would never stop being a chaotic mess.
> 
> 2\. If you enjoyed this work, please check out my other work Seiðmaðr! It is a long and on-going fic based on an amnesiac Loki and a traveller Reader. Lots of fluff and a slowburn with mutual pining and idiots in love.
> 
> 3\. I love comments!! Send me comments!! I will reply to every single one of them!!!
> 
> 4\. Find me on Tumblr: http://goldtrimmedspectacle.tumblr.com/
> 
> 5\. Buy me a kofi? - https://www.ko-fi.com/A045L7I


	3. Hvìlð

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and give me inspiration to post at an earlier date! <3
> 
>  **Songs that inspired this chapter:**  
>  \- I'll be good by Jaymes Young  
> \- Sorry by Halsey  
> \- when the party's over by Billie Eilish  
> \- the A team by Ed Sheeran  
> \- chasing cars by snow patrol  
> \- little lion man by Mumford & Sons
> 
> Have a song that reminds you of this fic? Send it to me! I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions :)
> 
> EDIT: Grammar.

Violet.

 

 

Violet and gold and green aligned the ceilings of the palace. So much gold and metal – all which made up the halls of the palace and its furnishing – and what felt so long without Loki by your side. Your heart yearned for his companionship despite the short walk to the dancehall. And the presence of Thor’s steadfast personage and his uncharacteristic silence was far too alike, but the way his eyes remained trained ahead and how Thor did not once slow his steps, a look of complete vacancy coating his features, was not.

 

 

What ever that had just transpired, your eyes locked on Loki’s and his hand pressed against your lips with heaving gasps, had obviously disturbed Thor – not that you were surprised – and had drained your body of more energy than you cared to admit.

 

 

“Thor - ?”

 

 

The older prince faltered in his steps and a smile blossomed over his features, slowing his pace to accommodate your smaller stature. His features appeared relaxed and vague, any prior thoughts having been completely swept under the rug and left to resurface at a later date. In show of this ease, his hand grew tighter upon your arm and a comforting squeeze was applied. The older prince drew your attention onto the music which radiated from the ballroom doors. With each step, your energy seemed to deplete more and your heart grew heavier until uncomfortable nausea settled in the pit of your stomach, settled by the sharp inflictions of barbed petals.

 

 

“Talking is an activity which is unnecessary right now, dear blóm,” he recited in a tone all too familiar. “Besides, I am not the man who you wish to be speaking too – I can tell from your eyes. They yearn for someone else. And I believe his presence is on the other side of this hall,” Thor exclaimed with no hint of embarrassment and a soft smile.

 

 

_He knew._

 

 

“Thor please – Listen. I do not – ”

 

 

Loud yells of the Æsir and their bellows of delight welcomed your entrance, Thor hot at your heels and his laughter joining in with the loud exclamations from a nearby table. His hand never retreated from your arm despite the excited yells and the prince swept you over to an empty banquet table where he sat you down with a soft smile, hands grazing your shoulders in a brotherly manner. His eyes were bright and a look of utmost care crossed his tanned features, but it did little to settle the panic which raced down your every nerve.

“Thor  _please_  –“

 

 

You were uncertain if he could hear your words over the orchestra.

 

 

“Pardon me, lady blóm. I must take leave – “ the prince’s eyes wavered and fell on his friends, who sat on one of the large banquet tables and were surrounded by a number of empty mugs “ – As I believe Volstagg has begun his daily assortment of drinks without a worthy competitor. I hope to see you later when Loki has returned, gracing the dancefloor with your ever-lovely waltz.”

 

 

His eyes gleamed with delight as your body physically faltered.

 

 

“And do not fret,” his eyes met yours and graced your own with a knowing look that he had inherited via the Allmother. “Your secret is safe with me, lítill systir, and I shall not share it with anyone but that of your heart.”

 

 

He rose to leave.

 

 

“No! No Thor, you cannot,” you grabbed his hand, “Please do not tell him – do not mention it at all, if possible. You do not understand Thor. Please, I beg of you.” The desperation bled into your words like an open wound.

 

 

His eyes met yours and the sudden joy diminished.

 

 

“Do not tell him?”

 

 

You pulled away, still cautious.

 

 

“Yes. Speak not of this conversation. Not of my heart. Not to him. Not to your mother. Not to the Warrior Three or Sif. This a matter important of the heart and I could not – I cannot bare – “

 

 

The words remained empty.

 

 

“He does not know?” Thor’s words came out whispered. You could barely hear them over the loud singing from an opposite table. There was a pause and you felt shame flood your features, hand lifting from Thor’s arm, eyes sinking to the floor, misery apparent as shocks of pain licked at your throat.

 

 

“You are not courting?”

 

 

The question was light but held an air of exasperation and confusion.

 

 

You swallowed the flowers.

 

 

“Courting? Thor we cannot –” you stopped to recollect yourself. “No. We are not courting. Your brother does not perceive me in such a light, no matter my own interest in his person and character.”

 

 

More chatter and yells filled the hall. Thor dropped your arm as a drunken bard passed by, laughing with a young woman by his side, and your moment of truths and confessions was broken. Thor pressed an ever-princely kiss on the back of your hand, eyes troubled and hard as he drew away and regarded you with a hard look.

 

 

“I may not know my brother as well as I wishe to, dear blóm,” Thor confessed, “but I am certain I know where his heart lies – or at least, where it  _should_.”

 

 

He drew away without another word.

 

 

Thor’s enthusiasm was a common occurrence in Asgardr’s palace, but you were unsure if his actions were truly genuine despite the happy circumstances that all Æsir had come to be in. His actions and mannerisms as Thor approached the banquet table was similar to Loki’s rigid posture and common placidness.  The older prince had been troubled since his return from Midgardr after repenting for his arrogance against the Jötunn king – much to yours and Loki’s joint relief and regret – knowing that such a banishment was not Thor’s sole fault.

 

 

Your chest heaved as the older prince sat down and slapped Hogunn on the back, rocking the man with his brute strength. Thor’s eyes caught yours over the happy cheers and your stomach plummeted – forced to glance away from Thor and his antics. Mind still abuzz with his words.

 

 

_“I am certain I know where his heart lies – or at least, where it should.”_

 

 

You tried to spot any other familiar faces amongst the crowds of Æsir, Vanir and otherworldly inhabitants of Asgardr – uncomfortable whilst alone in the busy hall and trying to ignore Thor’s prominent gaze.

 

 

Everything hurt.

 

 

Nothing was right.

 

 

_Perhaps there was a discrete exit elsewhere?_

 

 

But Loki –

 

 

Your body felt a shock. Your chest heaved with the sudden spike and you bent over in pain. Another bolt forced you to flail momentarily, grabbing a nearby table to steady your beating heart and the cutting vines in your lungs. There was a moment of unfiltered panic as your breathing stuttered with flowers brushing your tongue and blocking your throat, stifling your air passage until you could merely cough the violet petals into the stolen handkerchief.

 

 

The blood was clotted now. There were dark streaks of black and dirt.

 

 

This was not good.

 

 

You ignored it.

 

 

It was fine.

 

 

All was  _fine_.

 

 

The handkerchief was stuffed up your sleeve once more and you smiled sweetly at a passing couple, who exchanged a look of worry between themselves.

 

 

Perhaps you should leave?

 

 

Would it be socially acceptable?

 

 

Would people talk?

 

 

You paused in your retreat and looked over to where a fellow servant sat at their table, packed with maids and stablemen. The thought that perhaps a glass of mead would calm your stuttered breath, allowing you to calm before Loki returned and whisked you back to the comfortable silence of Asgardr’s royal library, crossed your mind.

 

_“Aage, I promise you – I cannot hold my drink against a common barmaid so I know that I could not hold my liqueur against your luggish frame,” you had chimed once. Young and stupid, eyes wide with wonder and slight trepidation – eager and easily swayed by the words of an older man, who knew everything outside of the common palace novels and diaries. His smile was far too easy and welcoming, and even though you had wished to seek Loki out that evening, hoping to read the newest book which your mother had sent from your village, you had been swept into a drinking fest of four almost-men and three young girls, who each sipped at their drinks with an air of amusement and bittersweet companionship._

_“Fear not, lítill blóm,” Aage had chimed with a slip of Loki’s name for you – all servants having picked up on the nickname in the past few years – and his blue eyes looked almost green in the cavern’s lighting. “Join us in a drink and you may retreat to the prince’s side after. It will be no longer than a half hour and besides, I believe the prince is busy with the new stable-hand at this moment. He would prefer no interruptions, dear lady – if you understand my tongue, that is.”_

_The alcohol had been bitter and unappealing, but with your fellow companions’ encouragement and the four men all drinking by the gallon, you had gulped down the bitter liquid in hopes to leave sooner than later. Perhaps to find Loki scrawling his seiðr incantations on spare parchment rather than with his hands up the stable boy’s shirt._

_The image left something to be desired and even then, naïve and cusping on awkward adulthood, your heart had clenched at the thought of Loki in the arms of another._

_Another drink would not hurt._

 

 

Scanning the ballroom, your heart sunk when Loki remained out of view – his absence weighing heavy on your soul. In his absence, your body was left yearning and your heart wanting, but your chest pains diminished softly until all that could be felt was a soft throbbing and the flowers pushing forcefully against your lung lining.

 

 

Tracing the remaining floor of the dance hall, you watched young couples dance by with wide smiles and smiled pityingly at yourself. Used to the feeling of loneliness, especially without the common appearance of Loki’s presence, you watched on in a bittersweet haze. That was until you spotted a lean woman stood beside the Allfather. Her hands folded and a placid smirk ingrained upon her lips.

 

 

 _Vanir_.

 

 

You noted how her hair was light and curled – held tightly in a hairstyle similar to the Allmother’s daywear, and loose strands hanging sweetly around her narrow face. The red of her hair matched perfectly with her hazel eyes, adorned with pink blush and gleaming highlights.

 

 

The coordination of her outfit further emphasised her beauty with pink cheeks that matched her flowing skirt, a light hue similar to that of a rose and rose gold bracelets dangling from her slim wrists. A matching rose chest-plate sat over her layered skirts and a detailed sword sat on her right hip – posing as a threat and a promise.

 

 

The woman’s eyes seemed distant and a royal advisor stood by her side, talking with the Allfather whilst she stood passive and silent on his left. There was no attempt at conversation on her behalf, her eyes remaining distant and bored, almost completely unimpressed with the extravagance of Asgardr’s floating lanterns and joyful companions who glided across the floor with laughs and shrieks of excitement.

 

 

The lady appeared to care little about appearances beyond the physical and nodded along with something her royal advisor said, completely absent from the conversation which appeared to centre around herself, and smiled dully at a comment the Allfather spoke in her favour.

 

 

There was no reaction beyond the polite and forced.

 

 

You watched as Odin nodded his head and finally, Loki swept across the floor – into the oncoming conversation which you knew he had already come to dread.

 

 

A sense of relief filled your being as his eyes scanned the floor briefly, causing you to wonder if he was seeking your counsel. Your presence to calm him. Your hand to hold. Your lips to kiss –

 

 

Embarrassment flooded your system.

 

 

You had dared kissed the prince’s hand in a moment of weakness and the mere action had already caused you far too much strife. And besides, it was one thing to yearn for the prince’s touch and his kiss, but a whole other desire for Loki’s deeper requirements, such as his unadulterated trust and beliefs – which you had come to realise in years before, was gifted to very few and far in-between.  You had been merely lucky in his devotion in the shared friendship. And it was also a far cry of pure friendly admiration for your most beloved companion, to show you cared for him like you would any other with kind words, but to then kiss his hands like a forlorn lover and run away.

 

 

How unladylike.

 

 

How daunting.

 

 

How –  _painful_.

 

 

A loud bang filled the hall and all Æsir fell silent under their king’s demands – the Allfather lowering his sceptre and standing tall between his youngest son and the woman he previously spoke to.

 

 

You watched, curious over what could have influenced the Allfather to pause such merriment, and glad to have been distracted from your own self-loathing.

 

 

“Asgardr, we are all here to celebrate the coming of spring on this fine day,” the Allfather began and your eyes travelled from him and onto Loki, who remained the perfect example of etiquette and princely duty. The flushed and worried expressions of earlier had been fully wiped from his face, leaving only the faint lines of laughter and mischief around his mouth, and a wearied look that weighed heavy on your soul.

 

 

To feel Loki’s pain was so familiar that it might as well have been your own.

 

 

“We are honoured to be graced with so many good men and women today,” the Allfather continued, “And I cannot thank our court and staff enough for planning this ball so excellently – as well as my dear wife, Queen Frigga” – a quick applause and the Queen curtsied from the opposite side of the ballroom – “but this ball has not been solely for our celebration of spring and its gifts.”

 

 

His hands drifted and welcomed the audience’s enraptured stares upon Loki and the Vanir beauty. Neither seemed particularly impressed and you caught Loki’s slight scratch as his hand – a habit developed in childhood and carried into adulthood.

 

 

He was nervous.

“My youngest, Loki Odinson, the second prince of Asgardr and second in line to the throne, has been requested to attend the Vanir court to handle Asgardr’s delegations in the trading warfare between Alfheim and Svartalfheim. It is both a great duty and a great compliment of my son’s diplomatic skills as the silver-tongued prince” – laughter filled the room – “and a true leader.”

 

 

A rolling sense of grief and joy flooded your countenance. Torn to hear of his upcoming departure, but glad for Loki to have been finally recognised as the bright young man that he had displayed many a time, especially in open court and during your shared literature lessons as young children.

 

 

 _“It is_ may _I leave – not_ can _I leave,” the teacher had chastised once. Your eyes were bleared with tears and utter frustration coated your features, having felt sick and tired of the eloquence and speaking lessons that had suddenly been thrusted upon you in the three-hundredth year of your servitude to the Asgardian royal family._

_You had sniffed and rubbed a chubby hand over your cheeks._

_“May I please leave, Miss Kaapodottir?” The question came out small and shy, so tired and fraught from your failures that lesson._

_The teacher had rolled her eyes and waved a hand._

_“You may leave. I cannot teach you whilst you weep over a few failures. I am surprised that you were able to reach this far without breaking down,” she had noted in a snide manner and turned back to her other student: Loki. “Now, my prince, please elaborate on your thoughts behind the use of correct verbs and adverbs.”_

 

_You had refused to stay, so high-strung on shame and bitter resentment towards the double-standard which your teacher held towards both you and Loki, and swept out of the room with your books and poorly hidden tears._

_No matter your attempts to understand her lessons, Miss Kaapodottir’s teaching had never really clicked as a child. Thankfully, her reign did not last long._

_“Blóm? Please come out – I do not like to see you sad. Miss Kaapodottir had no right to say such mean phrases to you,” Loki had called after the lesson ended and had placed an illusion of snakes in the teacher’s bag, which he had informed you about later that following evening._

_“She was very cruel and you are so smart. She just does not understand your way of thinking – “ he had explained whilst crawling under an evergreen bush in search of your shared hiding place. “You are so skilled in other areas of expertise. And if it were to make you feel better, Miss Kaapodottir was wrong about one of the questions which you answered. Indeed, you were right in your answer about the treaty behind Asgardr and Jotunheimr, unlike her own beliefs. So, please come out.”_

_The plea in his voice had been your sole reason to reveal yourself in such a torrent of emotion. The streaked tears and snotty nose were all easily hidden in Loki’s padded jacket, caressing your back with over-sized hands and the bitter sensation of iced pudding rather than natural warmth._

_His touch had always been a catalyse of calm or excitement in your body. Ready to steady your thoughts and breaths with a single touch, a soft whisper, a slow rocking motion and a tight hug to stifle your tears. His warmth and scent washing over you in waves of reassurance and adoration, fuelled by his murmured words of adoration and the soft whisp of his lips._

 

 

_"Shush, darling. I have you, blóm. I have you."_

 

 

Your eyes caught Loki’s from the dense depths of the crowd.

 

 

His whites were glistening.

 

 

“However, this is not the only good news I have received in the past hour,” Odin expressed and your eyes fell from Loki’s. The woman, who you had come to realise was the Vanir princess Thor had spoken of previously, stood up on the podium alongside the Allfather and lifted her hand.

 

 

Sick realisation struck you.

_Do you believe the princes will find wives at this ball, dear blóm?_

 

 

“The second prince of Asgardr has been asked for his hand in marrying Princess Catriona, heir to the Vanir throne on Vanaheimr, on the completion of his delegations. Their courting will start imminently after his arrival on Vanaheimr and will be completed once their several years of courtship have proceeded.”

 

 

Loki whipped around at the exclamation.

“I have finalised the decision on the benefits of the nine realms. It is both an honour on the behalf of Asgardr and Vanaheimr for two beings of perfect character to be destined for one another.”

 

 

Destined?

_"When I grow up, I think I would like to be married in the palace gardens.” You had stated once, barely five-hundred then, and smiled at Loki whilst picking at a bush dotted with blueberries and small white flowers._

_“Why in the gardens?” He had asked back, welcoming the handful of berries you gifted his small hand. His childish face was still round and scuffed with puppy fat, however, still held an odd slimness which the Allfather had never exhibited. “Surely you would prefer the throne room more – or you could get married on one of Asgardr’s moors. Surrounded by nature that is free rather than confined in the palace walls.”_

_You stole a berry and ate it cheerfully, hands linked with Loki’s, much to his own amusement and affection towards your young personage. His hand squeezed yours back._

_“I like the gardens. There are all sorts of fruit that bloom in the summer, and look at all the daisies! We could make daisy chains at my wedding,” you laughed and bent to grab a few. Their delicate stems were easily broken and the petals were assorted into your hair with a few fluid motions. “I think you would look great with daisies and a ponytail! Besides, that means you could come to my wedding and we could dance all night and then go and read in the library when it gets too crowded – then we could eat cake and stay up without the Allmother sending us to sleep.”_

_“I would also get to wear a pretty dress and look like the Allmother with her pretty hair and sparkly jewellery. And I would be marrying someone I really liked, who would think I am the best person on Asgardr and make me happy – with books and cakes and flowers.”_

_Loki had smiled and nudged your shoulder._

_“Like me.”_

_A pause._

_“Pardon?”_

_Loki had rolled his eyes and picked a rose from a nearby bush, pushing the thorned stem very softly into your open palm._

_“You would be marrying someone like me,” he recited with a grin, “who gives you flowers and helps you steal cake from the cooks when they are not looking, and who believes you are one of the most wonderful people to have graced Asgardr’s planes. Am I right, blóm?”_

_The sentiment was new at the time – completely unfamiliar but sweet on Loki’s childish tongue. His eyes had been soft then and bore the childish innocence of a sheltered childhood._

_The rose twirled between your fingers, allowing you to pause with your reply._

_“No. I think my husband will be a lot taller than you.”_

_The rose was slipped behind his ear before the prince could notice and you dashed off. Loki ran after you only a moment later, yelling at your slander of his stature – all whilst giggling and running past a patch of newly bloomed violets._

 

 

Nothing.

 

 

You felt nothing.

 

 

There was no prevention of your sudden collapse and the ongoing collision with a nearby table. The spilling of the participants’ drinks and food was of little thought as your heart trembled – flowers blooming and spilling from your chest until all you could do was heave and weep as the pain shot through your body and ripped the cracked sobs from your throat.

 

 

How you wished to be a child once more.

 

 

You could hear yelling – the feeling of another’s hand gripping your cheek and whispering soft, motherly words to you. Their fingers ran down your cheek and hovered above your throat, seiðr seeping into your nervous system and welcoming golden warmth into your veins. But when you opened your eyes, speech slurred and panicked, Frigga’s smiling face bore down on your features with a frown in its place. Her hands waved at nearby guests and the remaining ladies-in-waiting flooded to your side in a sign of tight sisterhood, one as distraught as the next.  Your fall had each woman questioning the meaning of your sudden collapse – all claims stating that it must be food poisoning. Fatigue. Poison intended for the prince.

 

 

 _Heartbreak_.

 

 

Quick footsteps travelled through the panicked whispers of surrounding Æsir and the palace staff who had stepped into the circle of distress and pain, which had developed around your shaking body, were struck by sudden yells similar to that of a frightened child. Their bodies parted as the shaking form of prince Loki slipped into the circle and immediately fell to his mother’s side – followed by the Allfather and Princess Catriona, whose face had fallen from her passive state and into something sneered and likened to a horse.

 

 

Hands cradled your face – clogging your senses with absolute need and danger.

 

 

Your eyes opened once more, bleary and fraught with tears, but fell shut when Loki’s face bore down and met yours with an utterly frantic nature. His pupils were dilated and his breathing shallow, sucking in deep breaths as your chest fell at a far faster pace than his own – gasping for air even in Loki’s arms.

 

 

Your eyes met his and pain pierced your lungs.

 

 

Retching followed suit and you could hear someone calling for the guards.

 

 

Blood fell from your lips and ran down your chin like a broken faucet, the clots having grown larger and the actual hue looking darker than previously exhibited. However, you were most frightened to discover the floods of violets and purple petals that oozed from your lips could no longer be hidden.

 

 

“Blóm – !” Loki’s words slurred into the background noise and you could barely distinguish his voice from the Allmother’s, however, every other voice seemed indistinguishable all together. Your head had begun to loll as the blood kept rushing and the flowers scattered upon the floor and Loki’s lap.

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

His name was followed with a heavy tidal wave of violets and flared pain.

 

 

It couldn’t end like this.

 

 

Surely, you had more time.

 

 

“Loki,” you tried again and his hand wrapped around your own, caressing his cheek despite your shaking limbs. The shifting of your body made you groan, but you leant back into Loki’s cool chest and accepted the support which he offered.

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

“I am listening. I am here for you,” he whispered over the loud yells and you could do nothing as his face began to fade into black. “I have you, dear one. I have you. The flowers will not harm you.”

 

 

Your chest heaved and you gripped his hand tighter.

 

 

“Loki –”

 

 

A plea.

 

 

You felt him sob.

 

 

“I have you now. I have you.”

 

 

The words remained unspoken.

 

 

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love –_

Violets and greens and golds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Systir** \- sister, pronounced: _sis-ter_
> 
> 1\. OOOH SHIT JUST GOT REAL. but hey, we had some fluff before it, right? RIGHT? Sorry if anyone cried. This wasn't even supposed to be the sad part but I've already had a few comments saying people have cried. AT LEAST I'M DOING MY JOB. so that's good :)
> 
> 2\. I love adding random titbits of the reader and Loki growing up. It really shows the healthy dynamic that they have, and how their friendship has grown and stayed the same throughout their young lives. However, there may never be a full explanation of their meeting and the development of their friendship as children because sometimes it's more fun to imagine such scenarios by yourself.
> 
> 3\. I feel like the whole "arranged marriage" was far too obvious and dabbled with Loki being sent off to war for a while. Decided against it in the end, soley because I wanted more Loki action - even if it is sad or merely through memories.
> 
> 4\. IM SORRY I LOVE KID LOKI HAVING A HUGE VOCABULARY. YOU KNOW HE WOULD LEARN BIG WORDS TO IMPRESS HIS MOTHER AND THE READER. ALSO HE WOULD SOMETIMES USE THEM WRONG BUT IT'D BE FINE CAUSE HE'S CUTE. also, 50 years in Midgardian terms = 1 year on Asgard. so, 400 years working at the palace is the equivalent of 8 Midgardian years.
> 
> 5\. I love comments!! Send me comments!! I will reply to every single one of them!!!
> 
> 6\. Find me on Tumblr: http://goldtrimmedspectacle.tumblr.com/
> 
> 7\. Buy me a kofi? - https://www.ko-fi.com/A045L7I


	4. Threyja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is having a rough time.
> 
> Also, Thor is a good bro.

 A kiss.

 

 

One  _single_  kiss and he was enraptured.

 

 

Loki was not naïve. He was not young and shy like he once was. He had experience, yes, but none that held any meaning beyond the physical. And yet, here he was in his thirteenth century and controlled by a pair of soft lips pressed to his palm and swept away in mere seconds. And the only evidence of such an occurrence being the blush which coated Loki’s features.

 

 

The blush which stained his pale skin a light cerise and coated both his cheeks and the skin under his ceremonial attire.

 

 

The blush which had been caused by the grateful actions of his closest companion.

 

 

You had kissed him.

 

 

Well, you had kissed his hand. Loki faltered in his breathing and ran his thumb over the skin, still shocked by his companion’s sudden affectionate attitude and bashful state.

 

 

That was … New.

 

 

Granted, you were never one for hiding your friendly adoration for Loki, which was heavily returned on his part. But this new action – this new display of friendship and platonic love was far too controlling and overwhelming for Loki’s shocked emotional state.

 

_Unfair._

 

The fates were unfair in all their actions.

 

 

“Blóm.” The title left his lips like a whispered prayer, completely silent beyond the slight wisp of his tongue. His lips rose slightly, forming a pitiful smile that was overwhelmed with warm affection and cruel bitterness. He shook his head with a rare fondness, “A sentimental fool, as she always is.”

 

 

“My prince?”

 

 

Loki was drawn from his thoughts and any display of affection or bashfulness was washed from his features. His hands fell and his back straightened to form the façade of an ever-perfect prince and heir to Asgardr’s throne, even if it was not his biological birthright.

 

 

“Here.”

 

 

The meek servant met Loki's eyes with wavering confidence, his nerves obvious in both their stuttering tongue and hunched figure. The young boy’s hands rubbed over one another in a familiar gesture, eyes darting back to the main hall and over to Loki every few seconds – obvious in their approach about what and where the servant wished for the prince to be.

 

 

If you were here there was no doubt in his mind that Loki would be scolded and smacked on the chest, all whilst you tittered about manners and pleasantries towards the younger servants.

 

 

Other servants.

 

 

 _Tamas_.

 

 

How the prince's blood had boiled when Loki saw you speaking to that  _other_  servant boy. Laughing at his jokes and smiling with that look of utter adoration and comfort plastered upon your features. And how you smacked the boy softly, much as you did to Loki when he grew too rowdy or said something that could be considered impolite, was painful in its pure familiarity.

 

 

He knew that his manners had not been up to par. It was difficult to control his jealousy when you had every right to adore whoever you pleased and to love whoever held your heart.

 

 

Loki could not control you and he would not want to.

 

 

A smile rose on the prince's lips – quickly hidden as the young boy finally stuttered out his commands.

 

 

Loki followed.

 

 

Would you be waiting for him when he arrived? Watching from the back of the room and curled up in a corner as you watched Loki walk in, all whilst smiling that spiteful grin he had come to love as a child and grown to adore as an adult.

 

 

Would you grace his presence once he separated from the man that once claimed to be his father? And would you grab his arm – linking fingers as you always do – and waltz him into a stupor on the ballroom floor? Or would you dash out of the hall, dragging his sullen form behind until all Loki could do was laugh along with your childish antics that he was always happy to succumb to or vice-versa?

 

 

Would you pull him into the darkest corners of the palace library and curl up in the small alcove that was made especially for your late-night retreats? When you and he would hide away from the rest of the realm with thick tombs of poetry, of ballads from the fallen, of love and chances lost. And would you look at him with utter adoration and care, like you did after every ball when both he and you got lost in the maze of stories and tall tales.

 

 

If soulmates were true, then Loki  _knew_  you and he were made of the same stardust which made the cosmos.

 

 

“My prince, the ballroom.”

 

 

Loki was ripped from his stupor; cheeks flushed a darker shade.

 

 

Childish.

 

 

Foolish.

 

 

All of it – complete fantasy and unattainable desires.

 

 

Loki needed to pull himself together. If not for himself, then for you. It was not a prince's place - or anyone - to force feelings where they were unwanted. And he had tried –  _by Odin_  how had he tried in his early thousands. All his words and compliments. All his shoulders kisses. All his linger touches and sweeps of your face. All his heavy burdens and truthful words expressed with an open heart and readied lips.

 

 

All which went unnoticed or merely unwanted.

 

 

Friends it was.

 

 

And friends it shall stay.

 

 

“Thank you.” Loki nodded his head towards the servant, glad to have been pulled away from his thoughts but unhappy to be subjected to Odin’s grace. And as Loki stepped into the ballroom, he could hear the loud yells and singing of Æsir, some which Loki knew originated from Thor’s oafish friends and acquaintances, and could see an ever-growing crowd of Vanir and Æsir gracing the ballroom floor with quick steps or jolted movements.

 

 

His eyes scanned the crowd.

 

_Where were you?_

 

Wide eyes met his own and a soft smile graced your features.

 

 

_Ah, there you were._

 

 

“Loki, you have arrived.” All attention was ripped away from the floor and diverted back to the Allfather’s embrace, which Loki suffered through purely out of courtesy and to prevent a riot via impolite behaviour in front of royal guests.

 

 

“Hello father.”

 

 

His attention was diverted towards the two guests and Loki managed to stifle a frown, completely uncomfortable with the attention of Innangard’s  _lovely_  Princess Catriona, whose eyes were far too sultry for his liking. Whereas her royal advisor, whose waistcoat looked one pie away from completely bursting at the seams, looked at him with an air of superiority and pride.

 

 

“Princess Catriona, please meet my son, Prince Loki Odinson. Second heir to the Asgardian throne and our head advisor for the royal court, alongside with my wife, Queen Frigga.”

 

 

The princess tittered sweetly.

 

 

“Oh yes, we have met before.”

 

 

Loki shifted – biting back his words. If by ‘met’, the princess truly meant  _‘threw herself into his embrace and slinked an inch too close every moment'_ at the Yule ball one-hundred-years-ago, then yes, they had met.

 

 

“A pleasure, Princess Catriona. I do not recall us meeting, so I apologise. I am quite surprised I missed a face with such distinct features as your own,” Loki chimed with a smug grin and honeyed words.

 

 

_Two could play at this game._

 

 

Loki ignored the remaining conversation in favour of gazing across the ballroom once more, hoping to catch your eye from across the banquet tables. His smirk had not wavered despite the Princess’ ugly scowl and furrowed eyebrows – her eyes livid by the comment regarding her appearance, and moreso due to Loki’s blatant disregard concerning her previous attempts to earn his grace and lust.

 

 

Loki was pulled from his thoughts by the bang of Odin’s sceptre against the tiled floors. The hall turned quiet as another hit followed the first and Loki stood up straight, eyes glazed over to elicit a bored façade despite the gaze of dozens upon his person and the Vanir princess. His hands were hidden behind his back, but his fingers refused to stay still and Loki could not help but draw comforting rings on the skin which you had previously kissed.

 

 

A fool.

 

 

He was a fool.

 

 

“Asgardr, we are all here to celebrate the coming of spring on this fine day. We are honoured to be graced with so many good men and women today.”

 

 

Loki could barely contain his impatience. Had he truly been pulled up to welcome and thank those to the ball? Would not the Allfather prefer his most beloved son? The one who was his flesh and blood, and not some  _stolen relic_  from the icy realm of Jötunheimr.

 

 

“And I cannot thank our court and staff enough for planning this ball so excellently – as well as my dear wife, Queen Frigga.” Loki joined in with the applause. As much as he disliked the man which he called ‘father’, Frigga would always be his mother. No matter what realm his heritage stemmed from. “But this ball has not been solely for our celebration of spring and its gifts.”

 

 

A pause.

 

 

_I beg your pardon?_

 

 

Loki looked over towards the Vanir princess on Odin’s right and the self-satisfied expression that had settled upon her feature, which was not kind to his heart. And in this moment of dread, Loki felt as if lead had encased his feet and fire burned through his veins until there was only a husk of a man remaining.

 

 

_No. No. No. Odin would not –_

 

 

“My youngest, Loki Odinson, the second prince of Asgardr and second in line to the throne, has been requested to attend the Vanir court to handle Asgard’s delegations in the trading warfare between Alfheim and Svartalfheim.”

 

 

His breath caught.

 

 

“It is both a great duty and a great compliment of my son’s diplomatic skills as the silver-tongued prince and a true leader.”

 

 

The lead vanished and was replaced by shocked electricity. The wave of recognition hit him like a storm. The applause washed over him like a wave, completely new and purely directed towards none other than himself. There was little that he could do but stand and await their silence, no matter the shock and pride that had filled his system.

 

 

Loki could feel the tears gathering in his eyes.

 

 

He would not become emotional over a treaty.

 

 

He did not require Odin’s praise.

 

 

“However, this is not the only good news I have received in the past hour,” the Allfather continued and Loki’s short-lived joy was diminished in the light it originated from. He could only watch as Princess Catriona stood up on the podium alongside the Allfather and lifted her hand, lips smirking and eyes lavished in Asgardr's dimly lit ballroom lights.

 

 

Odin smiled.

 

 

Loki did not.

 

 

“The second prince of Asgardr has been asked for his hand in marrying Princess Catriona, heir to the Vanir throne on Vanaheimr, on the completion of his delegations. Their courting will start imminently after his arrival on Vanaheimr and will be completed once their several years of courtship has proceeded.”

 

 

 Nausea.

 

 

Loki felt completely and utterly sick.

 

“I have finalised the decision on the benefits of the nine realms. It is both an honour on the behalf of Asgardr and Vanaheimr for two beings of perfect character to be destined for one another.”

 

 

He could not move.

 

 

_Destiny?_

 

What did Odin know about destiny?

 

 

This marriage was not destined. It was gain and wealth for Asgardr. For protection and kinship for the Allfather and Asgardr’s people, but not for Loki. Not for his own wellbeing and happiness.

 

 

Loki's knees shook and the anger swelled into his chest, bubbling and roiling as the applauds grew loud and shouts echoed off the hall walls.

 

 

_He could not cause a scene._

 

_He could not yell and speak the Allfather’s name in vain._

 

_He could not –_

 

A crash.

 

 

The clapping stopped and eyes turned.

 

 

A scream.

 

 

Loki could hear the spluttering and coughing. He could see his mother rushing through the crowd and the Æsir and Vanir splitting to allow her to move more swiftly. He could see her ladies-in-waiting running behind her, looks of panic and distress coating their features, their dresses bunched up to their knees as they followed the Queen quickly from behind.

 

 

He could hear crying.

 

 

Sobbing.

 

 

_“Blóm, please open the door. Know that Thor did not mean his words. He is both an oaf and a dunce. Your beauty can not compare to any of the realms,” Loki had begged outside your room once, dressed in his summer robes for a summertime ball and dripping with sweat from the overbearing heat. It had been an extremely warm summer and his body was not used to baring such stifling heat and wavered tempers._

 

_In his mid-teens, much to the younger prince's surprise, it was the summer of his eight-hundredth year when a stream of ladies threw themselves at both Loki and Thor, eager and infatuated in their words and looks. He was unsure if it had been the split of his attention or your overloaded work schedule which had ensured the outburst, but Thor had decided in a moment of utter stupidity to compare one of the visiting princesses with your common attire and frazzled hair._

 

_The summer had not been kind to your skin and busy work schedule, and Loki could clearly remember the look of betrayal that had crossed your features and the self-conscious cross of your arms. You had laughed along with Thor's friends, all but Sif, who recognised the displays of a self-conscious nature, and had quietly excused yourself from the table._

 

 

_It was a mere moment after the door closed that Loki threw a dagger at Thor before quickly hurrying after you._

 

_“Blóm, please open the door,” he had asked once more and could clearly hear the heartbroken sobs of your dishevelled state – all which was huddled in your bed from what he could understand. “You are gorgeous and amazing. Please open the door and let me hold you.” He had begged through the locked keyhole when you did not return his earlier wishes._

 

_“Go away, Loki.”_

 

_“Darling, please – “_

 

_“Not now, Loki.” You had choked out between the sobs._

 

 

_Frustrating._

 

_“But if you would merely let me see – “_

 

_“GO AWAY, LOKI. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ANYONE. LEAVE ME ALONE.”_

 

The memory stung, even five-hundred-years later, for it had been one of the only moments where you had refused comfort and refuge in Loki’s arms. Your yells and blatant disregard for his own feelings were purely down to the emotional state which Thor had pushed you to, but at the time Loki could do nothing but cringe away and feel the pain which wounded his soul. His emotions torn and stamped on by the distrust that you had displayed in a moment of distress and hurt.

 

 

It had been hard to wait as you sobbed into your pillow rather than his chest, arms bunched up to protect your wounded pride, rather than Loki's, which would have wrapped tightly around your shaking form. You had apologised after, obviously, but the memory was not a fond one to revisit.

 

 

“Blóm?” The word fell from Loki’s mouth without a second thought.

 

 

He searched the banquet tables for your presence and a cold rush filled his body, scanning his mother’s ladies in search of your violet dress.

 

 

_You were not there._

 

 

He was off the podium without a second thought, ignoring Odin’s shout of disapproval, and shoving his way through the thick crowds whilst yelling out your name like a frenzied man. Loki was grateful for the Æsir, who moved without a second thought and pulled their Vanir companions to the side, watching as he rushed into the circle which surrounded the source of panic.

 

 

Loki fell to his knees as soon as the sight of your sprawled figure met his eyes.

 

 

You were wheezing and shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks as the Allmother pushed seiðr into your throat and down your chest. Her eyes were focused and stern in their approach, but a look of despair crossed her features when she noticed Loki at her side.

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

His hands framed your cheeks and the young prince felt his remaining breath vanish when your eyes opened, irises blurry with tears and utter distress. They quickly fell shut when they met his own and your face twisted with pain, hands coming to squeeze his own as you coughed and heaved.

 

 

“Guards! Where are the guards?!”

 

 

Loki could barely hear the crowd over his own distress as blood dripped from your lips.

 

 

_Poison?_

 

_Stab wound?_

 

 

He could not tell what was the cause of your strife and his chest heaved with panicked gasps. The blood looked like it was never ending and there were obvious clots, which bubbled between your lips like sea foam.

 

 

You turned over and heaved.

 

 

Panic turned to horror.

 

 

 _Petals_.

 

 

“Blóm – !” The phrase was cut short as your head lolled and the flowers kept coming – fully grown and coated with blood. Loki could only feel the tight grip of fear and anxiety in that dreadful moment. His attention turned as you muttered out a soft ‘ _Loki’_. More violets fell from your lips and your sobs grew heavier. You tried again and Loki hushed you, looking to his mother for guidance as he gathered your frail body in his arms.

 

 

He had known something was wrong and he had done nothing.

 

 

How had he been so blind?

 

 

“I am listening. I am here for you,” Loki whispered into your ear and tried to divert all attention from the surrounding panic back onto his voice and presence. Your drowsy eyes and heavy breathes were growing slower. He could do nothing but shake with fear.

 

_Hanahaki disease._

 

You had Hanahaki disease.

 

 

Your hand tried to grip his own, but it slipped over and over again until Loki fully engulfed it with his own. He tried to offer you as much comfort in that moment as the palace healers rushed through the doors and pushed through the crowd, following the Allmother’s words and commands.

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

He sobbed.

 

 

_So foolish._

 

 

“I have you now. I have you.”

 

 

You did not reply.

 

 

Loki whispered your name and tried again when you did not respond.

 

 

You were taken from his arms, completely limp and unaware of your surroundings and the people staring.

 

 

His mother tried to console him.

 

 

Loki did not listen.

 

 

He tried to follow – they did not let him.

 

 

The anger which had quickly built from the sudden event and his abrupt betrothal snapped and there was near bloodshed when Loki set eyes upon the Princess Catriona, who stood off to the side with a sneer and look of clear distaste upon her face. Her eyes were trained on the blood upon the ballroom floor, but the expression quickly changed when she met Loki’s gaze.

 

 

It was only by chance that Thor reached Loki before he was in close enough range to injure the Vanir princess.

 

 

If Loki had been in your presence, perhaps he could have stopped this?

 

 

Perhaps, he could have made you confess and get the proper help before it took such a serious turn for the worse?

 

 

Loki did not drop his glare as the elder prince escorted him from the ballroom. The princess visibly shifted and her sultry appearance transformed into something fearful and worried.

 

 

 _Good_.

 

 

Loki waited until Thor escorted him into his chambers and murmured something about visiting the healers' wing in the morning, and closed the door after a moment of hovering. Thor knew Loki well enough that his brother required comfort, but it was not his comfort that was wanted or needed.

 

 

Thor waited.

 

 

Silence.

 

 

A sob followed by the sound of Loki’s knees giving out.

 

 

_Misery._

 

 

_Betrayal._

 

 

_Grief._

 

 

The list went on.

 

 

Thor raised his hand to re-enter but refrained.

 

 

The sobs grew louder.

 

 

 _Pity_.

 

 

Thor sat down.

 

 

He could wait.

 

 

He  _would_  wait until Loki wished to talk.

 

 

He always did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Kind of a filler chapter? Not intentionally, but I feel we needed more Loki and his perspective on everything. Also, boy _I _needed to see his reaction to the Reader's sudden collapse. He is a disaster God and he doesn't know how to deal with anything like this, okaY?__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> 2\. THOR. IS. A. GOOD. BROTHER. I'll fight anyone who says otherwise. He was obnoxious and rude to Loki in the earlier Thors (granted, still a sweetie but wasn't the best with Loki), but our boy has grown after Midgardr. Anyway, this is basically an AU/alternative reality. GROW AND ADAPT!  
>     
> 3\. I love comments!! Send me comments!! I will reply to every single one of them!!!
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> 4\. Find me on Tumblr: http://goldtrimmedspectacle.tumblr.com/  
>   
> 
> __  
> 5\. Buy me a kofi? - https://www.ko-fi.com/A045L7I  
> 


	5. Àstir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I COULDN'T WAIT.
> 
> PLEASE SEND ME COMMENTS AND FEEDBACK. I WANT YOUR SCREAMS. YOUR CRYING FITS. EVERYTHING!
> 
> 7,770 words. my god. have fun, my guys!
> 
>  **Songs used as inspiration:**  
>  \- Remember when by Chris Wallace  
> \- FOOLS by Troye Sivan  
> \- When he loved me  
> \- Hello my old heart by the Oh Hellos  
> \- Beloved by Mumford & Sons  
> \- I will wait by Mumford & Sons  
> \- Young and beautiful by Lana Del Rey (best if you _really_ want to cry!)
> 
>  
> 
> _22.06.29: Altered a few sentences and added a further event in the ending scene_

Vines dug and scrapped at your lungs, filling your throat with wide petals and leaves. The sweet stench of flowery fragrance and dried blood filled the room. Your body twisting and wheezing under the invisible pressure.

 

 

So much pain.

 

 

You whimpered under the stabbing sensations filling your chest, stuttered wheezes escaping your lungs and dissolving into the silence.

 

 

Soft shushing.

 

 

A sweet kiss pressed to your forehead.

 

 

You turned towards the hand, eyes squeezed shut with pain, and breathed out softly, “Loki.” The thankfulness engrained in your words and dripping from the relief that gripped your aching body.

 

 

The person sighed and their hand traced your chin, “No, my sweet. I am not the one you want. Go back to sleep. He will be here when you next awake." You nodded, familiar with the voice and trusting their words. A soft hum filled the room as another kiss was placed upon your brow and their head rested against your own, hands tracing your neck with maternal intent, and they smiled against your cheek. “Sleep, my dear. All will be well. Trust my words.”

 

 

And a haze filled your being.

 

 

Frigga pulled away as your head lolled once more, falling back onto the cotton pillow where it previously lay. Your eyes fluttered at the odd sensation as the golden seiðr began to diminish from your cheeks, its lines of light trailing from your temples down to your chest, where the flowers lay in wait. Frigga sat there a while longer, watching your innocent form sleep blissfully unaware of Asgardr’s current events and its political standoff against Vanaheimr. And especially oblivious to the state that you had pushed her younger son in to, where he dismissed medical care and refused to display his emotions, even to herself, whilst avoiding all men like the plague.

 

 

Her visions were never wrong, but they had never been so vague as to not foresee such dire consequences, even if the events had been predicted so early in its prophecy. And granted, the Allmother loved her husband with every piece of her heart, but his need for power and desire for protection sometimes corrupted all thoughts of happiness for his own children, and sometimes for himself.

 

 

Men. The epitome of fools. So blind in their love for others, they become blind to their most beloved.

 

 

It had not been easy to retreat on Odin’s promise to the Vanaheimr kingdom. His words of betrothal, all without the consent of his son or forewarning, were outstandingly thoughtless. And to not have sought out counsel with Frigga? Completely and utterly blind. As much of a good ruler the Allfather appeared to be, his actions and political decisions having always been wise, but merely due to the counsel of his wife and royal advisors.  _Especially_  after she had come along.

 

 

Frigga was glad that the Princess Catriona had been so forgiving in their broken promise, her eyes wavering with caution and slight fear when they laid upon Loki’s frail figure and had broken off the engagement without much thought beyond her own self-comfort and her kingdom. However, her advisor had been the most difficult to deal with and had it not been for Loki’s sullen mood and flared temper, the engagement may have ensued.

 

 

Frigga could not prevent her son’s doings when she, herself, could not calculate his actions in such a volatile state.

 

 

The advisor was lucky that Loki was unwell, otherwise Frigga was sure that his dagger would have landed in his chest rather than next to his head.

 

 

Not the most political actions, yes, but effective in its release.

 

 

She smiled bitterly and squeezed your hand, aware that you would not be capable to return the favour.

 

 

It had always been you.

 

 

Odin was a fool to see otherwise.

 

 

The door’s latch unlocked and in trailed her remaining ladies-in-waiting. Each carrying a bouquet of flowers or food, but all holding a look of fear and upset upon their features. Her second youngest, Maarit, was the worst off – eyes filled with ever-falling tears and her cheeks red with hollow cries.

 

 

“Hello dears.”

 

 

They nodded in respect and placed their presents at your bedside.

 

 

Ona said a soft prayer and traced her open palm down your nose. The others bowed their heads and so did Frigga.

 

 

“Do we know how long she has suffered this ailment?” Maarit asked into the open room, eyes trained on your sick form and beginning to brim with tears once more. “I had noticed something was wrong, however I did not ask upon what her ailment was. I believed that when she was ready to speak, she would. Or she would have mentioned it to the prince.” She paused and turned to Frigga, “Why did she not?”

 

 

The question lay heavy with its own answer.

 

 

“We already know why, my dear.”

 

 

The ladies nodded and their grief darkened the atmosphere.

 

 

“Does he not love her in turn?” Maarit asked once more, the tears beginning to spill and her voice catching at the end of said sentence.

 

 

“You know that also, Maarit.” She nodded and wiped the tears away. The silence stayed for the remainder of their stay, all watching your pained body with empathy and each hoping that what had just occurred was a mere figment of their imaginations.

 

 

“How has the prince reacted to the news?” Ona spoke up, turning towards the Queen with her steadfast expression. Ever dramatic as she was.

 

 

“Loki is not well. He has barely left his room since the spring cotillion,” Frigga brushed her dress down and began to follow her ladies out of the room. “Food is unappealing and company is frowned upon. He did not react well to Vanaheimr’s royal advisor the day before yesterday and threw a knife at his head. And Thor has spoken of my son’s general disposition in public and private,” she frowned, “I have noticed that Loki is despondent in public, but it has grown much worse in the passing days. And in private? There is not a moment when he is not weeping for his beloved or laden heavy with guilt. Thor has been forced to make Loki eat on some days.”

 

 

She looked back at the bed.

 

 

“It has barely been a half turn of the moon and I have never seen my son in such a state.” The door closed and with its click, you dozed on, completely unaware of the conversation which had just ensued.

 

 

“Is the prince to see her when she wakes?”

 

 

Frigga nodded and smiled, albeit with a slightly pained grace.

 

 

“I hope so. He is always so observant except for himself. I know that what ails him is not his bedridden companion, but what it means for their friendship and her future. My son is both selfless and selfish in his desires for our lady’s recovery.”

 

 

“I hope all ends well,” Maarit spoke in a hushed tone. “I hope they end up happy.”

 

 

Frigga did not reply, but it did not erase her agreement at her lady’s words.

 

 

“As do I, sweet one. As do I.”

 

* * *

 

 “Brother, please, open the door. I have news for you,” Thor begged from the hall outside of his brother’s apartment. His hands were empty and his clothes were of a more relaxed attire, having skipped his training regime for Loki’s needs and his heartbroken state, but his heart lay heavy under the pretence of Loki’s distress.

 

 

The door opened and in Loki’s place stood the frail image of a broken man, his eyes rimmed a dark red with blackened skin gathered under his eyelashes. The composed and snarky prince of Asgardr had been reduced into a mess of anxiety and delirious want.

 

 

Thor knew the feeling.

 

 

“Brother, have you eaten the pallet I gifted you last night?”

 

 

Loki stared at him, eyes glazed and vacant. They twitched and glanced back at the full tray on his lounge table.

 

 

Thor faltered and cautiously placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

 

 

Loki flinched.

 

 

“Loki, please, you need to eat something.” Thor allowed himself into the apartment whilst directing his brother onto a gold-accented chair. “Think of our dear blóm – “

 

 

Loki whipped around and growled.

 

 

“She is not  _yours_! She belongs to  _no one_! If anything she is _mi_  – “ his voice faltered, body seizing up, and fell silent once more. The fire which had gathered in his stomach was diminished within a moment’s notice.

 

 

“I know, Loki. I would be a fool not to,” Thor eased him back down and gifted the younger prince a piece of fruit. “For each piece of food you eat, the more I will tell you about your lady’s recovery. Is that a fair deal?”

 

 

Loki glared, annoyed at such a poorly strategized bargaining chip, and nodded. He ate the fruit with little refusal.

 

 

“She is well now – her flowers have reduced whilst in mother’s seiðr-induced coma, however she is not cured, as you well know.” Loki finished the first fruit and began his next. “Mother has been checking on her daily and your lady has gained some of her weight back, thanks to the biometric nutrients which has been fuelled into her body.” Another fruit was swallowed. “Her conscious state is still in a considerable amount of pain but it is better than at the beginning, however mother believes she can feel your absence. Even in her sleep.” Loki paused and his stoic façade was forced to cover the pain in his heart. He bit into a piece of bread. “She woke this morning but has been in and out of consciousness from the pain and unforeseen circumstance. Mother believes you will be able to visit later this afternoon, that is if you wash and sleep beforehand.”

 

 

“I cannot see her now?”

 

 

Loki swallowed a slice of meat, ever placid in his monitored behaviour.

 

 

“She is asleep right now, or she may be waking up, but mother says it will take a few hours until the seiðr is fully drained from her system and she will be able to understand the full circumstance in which she has landed herself in.”

 

 

A flash of defence flared in Loki’s eyes.

 

 

“It was not of  _her_  accord. It is whatever man that has forced her into such a position.”

 

 

Thor backtracked.

 

 

“Of course, brother. We both know that Lady blóm is incredibly intelligent, but that is not the point I am making. What I meant to say is that once your lady has woken, you are free to visit and help until the situation can be eradicated. However, it is both wise and sensible to see to your own health before you seek to assist another’s.”

 

 

He hummed.

 

 

“Loki,” Thor began softly, “Understand that the lady – she is not well. Mother does not think she will survive the next week – “ He was cut short by Loki's abrupt standing, having swallowed the last cutlet of meat and grunted, turning to retreat into his bedroom and barely sparing his brother a glance as the door swung shut. Thor was forced into his own silence and left to wallow in self-pity. Waiting and hoping for another sign of life from his melancholic brother.

 

 

The sound of running water came from his brother’s room and Thor winced, ashamed at his bluntness. There was nothing but silence on Loki's end but Thor felt his heart give when a heartbroken scream came from behind the door, followed by the sound of something smashing and empty sobs.

 

 

Thor sat and waited - the guilt overwhelming.

 

 

The smashing continued again and he heard the telltale sound of furniture breaking, followed by more sobs and screaming until Loki's voice grew hoarse and it finally fell silent. The only sound left was the dry heaves and sobs of a damaged man.

 

 

Thor sat and waited.

 

 

Loki stayed silent.

 

* * *

 

 

Light tapping woke you from the uneasy sleep which plagued your body.

 

 

Your joints moaned and creaked from the two weeks of rest, chest stabbing thorn after thorn into your lungs with each breath, and your mind blurry and weak from the unfortunate events which had occurred at the spring cotillion.

 

 

How cruel fate was.

 

 

You slid up the bed and opened your eyes, temporarily blinded by the sun as its rays filtered through thin curtains and filled the room.

 

 

The tapping ceased.

 

 

“Blóm.”

 

 

You turned and met the man’s green eyes, who sat watching your actions like a hawk – book in hand and a pencil tapping at your bedstand.

 

 

Tears sprung to your eyes – shame and regret gripping your being.

 

 

“Loki.”

 

 

His arms engulfed you and the book fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap of folded pages and scribbled notes. Little was noticed as your body slot perfectly with his own. Loki’s comfort and scent flooded your senses and the pain worsened momentarily, but you refused to pull away from the arms which had forced you into such a frail condition.

 

 

Loki pulled away before you could retreat back into the cocooned sheets.

 

 

“ _You_  are foolish and entirely conceited.” The prince snarled at your bedside and grabbed your hand, clenching it tighter and encasing the skin wholly with his large palm. “How dare you hide something so dire from the palace staff. From Eir and the healers. From my mother and the other ladies-in-waiting. From me,” his voice broke and you watched, tears building as Loki stared at you, pained and bitter.

 

 

The consequences of your actions had hit when the Allmother had awoken you, feeding you a bowl of porridge and remaining oddly silent. Her eyes had met yours, sad and all-too-familiar, and you had collapsed into sobs. Solely comforted by her maternal instincts and her motherly shushing, rocking your body back and forth until the sniffing had stopped and all tears had dried.

 

 

You felt numb, watching as your best friend crumpled under the realisation of your fate. You had become accustomed to the concept of your death but Loki had not. And as the aching reminder of violets sat cruelly in your lungs, the tears you shed were not for yourself, but for the man holding your hand – even during your last days.

 

 

“Are you so ashamed of your condition that you would seek no alternative for your ailment other than death? Ashamed of loving someone so purely that you would leave your friends and family to grieve their negligence and the loss of your presence. Are you so foolish to believe that death would be better than the loss of one’s love?” The grief that crept in to Loki’s words slanted you with their cutting edge, laden with burden and sitting heavy upon the flowers of your chest.

 

 

You were glad that the main healer had settled you in one of the more secluded healing chambers. No one would be able to hear yours nor Loki’s cries.

 

 

“Loki please, you do not understand.” You wiped the last of your sleep away. “I cannot do that to him – “

 

 

His lips curled into a snarl.

 

 

“But you would do that to me.”

 

 

Only now did you realise the straggled state in which the prince appeared. His lips were chapped and his skin, albeit freshly washed and clean, was sunken and held a paler pallor compared to earlier days. Even Loki’s hair, which he held such great pride and vanity for, was bunched up in dry and messy bun rather than its ebony waves. His face seemed equal in its dry state, the skin around his eyes cracked by tears shed for your pain, and his cheekbones appearing extremely daunting and tight through his skin.

 

 

Your breath heightened to a wheeze; the pain of your betrayal accompanied by the pain of vines ripping your body apart. It was the tight grasp of Loki’s hand upon yours which kept you grounded, however his wet eyes did little to gift your slights with compassion.

 

 

“The tale of Hanahaki. When one loves another and that love remains unrequited, the fallen flower has either of three options.” Loki’s broken voice wavered as his thumb traced the indents of your fingers. The words were so familiar yet never boring. “The maiden, sire or other can die, accepting their death with pained petal-cased gasps. However, they may otherwise confess their feelings and hope that the object of their affections loves them in turn. If not, they are destined to die a much harsher and painful death – or the fallen flower can rid of their feelings through seiðr. Expelling such emotions and attachments to their unrequited lover before the flowers suffocate them.”

 

 

“Yes,” your voice cracked, “but in removing the feelings of love, all other traces of companionship and adoration are erased from the person. It is like they never held a connection to their loved one – that they never knew the touch or smell of the other, even if they were to meet once more. Just like your mother said when were we small and young.”

 

 

Loki smiled at the memory, but his eyes sat hollow on his features, and his lips seemed to form a pained grimace than a symbol of joy.

 

 

Your heart lurched at the concept of banishing the friendship and love for this man. All for the sake of your life, which may or may never be happy after losing such a close loved one and never remembering why.

 

 

“And you would rather die than abandon such connections,” Loki asked, low and angered.

 

 

“I would rather die a million deaths and know that the man I adore has loved me and I loved him, even if our forms of love do not match and our statuses would never be accepted.” You entwined your fingers with Loki’s. “It is a pity that platonic love cannot placate the curse of Hanahaki.” The lost hope that was contained in Loki’s eyes broke your resolve and you hiccupped a small sob, a pained smile forced upon your lips – hoping that in your last hours Loki would perceive you as happy and content in his presence.

 

 

“Did your mother tell you about my condition?”

 

 

Loki swallowed and his lip curled into a wavering frown, his adam’s apple bobbing with the oncoming tears and overpowering emotion, “You have little time left.”

 

 

“How much, Loki?”

 

 

He refused to meet your eyes.

 

 

“A week at the most, a day at the least.”

 

 

You felt a sob rack your body. It felt so real when the words fell from his mouth, but at least you were happy to be blessed with Loki’s presence although it made the situation all the harder on your soul.

 

 

“I want you to remember that I adore you, you mischievous God. Never has a woman had such a friend as you, Loki Odinson. I envy your next partner in chaos whence I am gone from Asgardr.”

 

 

“Do not – “ his voice tightened and the glossed sheen fell from his eyes. Tears dripped down the dark prince’s cheeks, falling down the sharp jaw that you had held in teasing gesture or tapped in playful happiness. “Please. Do not speak like that, my dear friend. I cannot fathom Asgardr without your radiant presence, sentimental fool.”

 

 

The choked air he breathed in was sharp. Barbed in its inhalation.

 

 

“Alas, but I cannot stay. Not with my condition,” you smiled pitifully, pausing when a cough racked your body, pressing Loki’s hand upon your chest. He silenced as the steady thump of blood filtered through your body, over and over again in a cycle of life. Two small petals fell from your lips and he wiped the splattered flowers from your features. “But you can stay,” you breathed out and raised his hand to your lips, “And you can enjoy life.”

 

 

Your eyes searched the green depth of his own desperately, trying to convey the emotion which grasped you so tightly.

 

 

“So, I beg you to make the most of your enjoyment among the living. Perhaps Valhalla will accept me or I shall return in another form elsewhere in the realms, and we may meet once more in another life or amongst the Valkyries. I hear Midgardr is beautiful this time of year,” you joked. “Maybe I will meet Thor’s mysterious lady?”

 

 

The hand upon your chest tightened and Loki slipped forward, running his fingers over your frail body with a rare gentleness - all which was reserved for you. His nose was buried in your neck and you rubbed the leather on his shoulders, all whilst your dearest friend wept openly into your skin, his voice jagged with agony and releasing the cracked sobs of a man lost. The silence was betrayed by his whisper. “Tell me who it is,” Loki begged as more tears wet your bedsheets, ignoring your jest in times of sorrow. “Tell me who it is so that I may make him pay. It is unjust that you should die for a fool’s mistake.”

 

 

You gripped him back.

 

 

“I cannot and I will not let him carry the burden of my death when he cannot have prevented it.”

 

 

The God ripped himself away, eyes slanted and burning with hatred – whether that was for your actions or for himself. It was uncommon for Loki to feel inferior or at a loss of what to do.

 

 

“You do not deserve this. By Odin, woman! You are as stubborn as you are foolish. Wouldn’t you rather live out the rest of your life amidst the palace walls and in my company, rather than pine over a man so unworthy of your attention that I have never seen such a person in your inner-circle.” His voice came out rough and pleading.

 

 

“Loki - !” You went to retaliate but another series of coughs ripped from your lungs, preventing a reply to Loki’s outburst. It was with Loki’s dedication and crumbling hope that he wiped the petals from your mouth and washed away the blood splashed upon your lips.

 

 

His tears had grown heavier.

 

 

“I have been so foolish. I should have been able to detect the symptoms when you first fell for him. I could have prevented this occurrence. By Odin, why do you refuse my help? A chance of a longer life?”

 

 

You smiled and slowly tugged Loki forward, resting your forehead against his own and watching his pupils dilate through the tears.

 

 

“Why ever not? It is a heart’s job to yearn and adore, but it is a mind’s job to rationalise and seek realism. I cannot help if my heart and mind want opposite things.”

 

 

Loki pressed his nose against yours in an effort of half-hearted comfort, “But why someone who could not love you? Could it not have been an admirer of yours? Or could not that foul prince from Innangard, whose eyes did not waver from you at the Cotillion ball last summer, have fallen with this ailment. It would have been delightful to watch him suffocate in retaliation for his vile actions towards you and the other young maidens at the event.”

 

 

His breathing grew heavy again and the salty tears mixed with your own.

 

 

“You are so young, my dear. So young and so loved. How I would do anything to have you live another hundred years by my side. For our positions to be swapped. You offer far more to the kingdom of Asgardr than I ever could, and it would lighten my soul to see you well and standing at my side once more.”

 

 

You laughed lowly as the tears continued to flow.

 

 

“Indeed. I remember quite distinctly that the last time I stood by your side for a formal event, I lost my footing because  _someone_  decided to step on my dress – may I say  _purposefully_  – and he chose to then sweep me into his arms, claiming to have saved me from a demise that were his misplaced steps.”

 

 

A shared look of warmth flooded Loki’s features.

 

 

“You looked stunning in the green dress Mother picked out,” the prince reminisced softly, “What ever was I to do but carry you away from the ballroom and undesirable suitors? Surely, it was in yours and my best interest to stash you way for my attention only.” He kissed the heel of your hand and smiled sweetly, features alight with past embraces and laughter. “How I would love to see you in my colours once more.”

 

 

Your smile weakened.

 

 

“You will have a wife one day and she shall wear your colours every day, my dearest friend. Fret not, for there are many others who would suit green more than I.”

 

 

Loki’s eyes locked with your own and the teasing atmosphere vanished. The sorrow of your words lay heavy in the air and Loki whimpered softly, pressing down the harsh sobs that had begun to rack his chest once more.

 

 

“I would rather have you wear my colours than any other woman in the nine realms,” he whispered and looked at you through thick eyelashes, “But it was not in the fates plans for you to do so.” His fingers stroked another tear from your cheek.

 

 

“What I would do to reverse time and have you fall for me instead.”

 

 

You choked as another sob brought up a heavy mass of purple and green petals.

 

 

Loki sat patiently as the petals continued to fall and blood was smeared over your clothes, the bedsheets and his hands. He repeated the process of cleaning and dusting the petals away every few coughs until finally, you breathing eased and the blood was removed from your bare skin.

 

 

His profile stood so regal in the shadows of the sun.

 

 

“Say it again.”

 

 

Loki paused in his ministrations.

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“Say that you would have rather had me fall for you,” the words begged as your body shook from the extent of heart-inflicted damage laying waste upon your lungs. “Say that you would have rather made me your wife than have me in this bed, so weak and frail.”

 

 

Your mouth leaked more blood, which Loki wiped away dutifully.

 

 

“Say that you would have loved me eventually.”

 

 

He paused and dropped the cloth.

 

 

Your name was breathed between Loki’s lip and his hands held your face, eyes searching yours frantically as tears glimmered in the whites, lips curled into a teary frown. He nodded in defeat and propped his head against your own as the tears began to fall again.

 

 

“Dear one,” he shuddered out, and you wept silently. “I would have adored you for all the realm to see.”

 

 

“No one would have ever passed us without the evidence of my love whispered to you in soft ballads, poetry and language of the heart. The whole of Asgardr would have seen us and said  _‘how I wish for a love so pure and wonderful than that of the prince and his bride’_ ,’ Loki whispered and rocked your body against his own.

 

 

“There would never have been a day where I did not carry you to our chambers each night, hoping to hold your comforting body against mine. The servants would watch us with adoration whilst the noble men and women would glare at us with envy. There would be no one who could doubt my affections for you, and if they did, I would woo you with every romantic means possible until the whole of the nine realms understood the depths of my affections towards you.”

 

 

Loki nudged his face closer.

 

 

“You would want for nothing and I would greet you each morning with a kiss. And every evening we would both dress in green and I would walk you to the dining chambers where we would tease and jest with one another until dark. Then after dinner we would read and talk of our future together. Talk of marriage, of children and of my disdain for Thor and his friends.”

 

 

Your eyes blurred with the thick tears that wet your cheeks and gifted the dark prince a laugh to his joke.

 

 

“Our children?”

 

 

Loki smiled impishly through his tears.

 

 

“Yes, our children. I would hope three or four, but I imagine two would be enough if they inherited my seiðr and your influence.”

 

 

You bit back the overflowing tears.

 

 

“What would we name them?”

 

 

Loki’s eyes welled with tears and he stifled a sob, hiding his face from view as he raked his hand through your hair.

 

 

He raised his head and met your eyes.

 

 

“Why don’t you allow the healers to remove the flowers from your chest and then you could live and bear those children yourself - rather than leave them in a dream whilst you lie dead on the healer’s beds.” His hands trembled on your cheeks, eyes so soft and vulnerable in that moment. “Why don’t you live and I could woo you? I could make you mine and you could make me yours. Then we could have those children together and name them whence the time comes.” He sobbed pathetically as you trembled – the pain stemming from the on-growing cluster of petals in your chest, charged by your desire and want of an unattainable future.

 

 

Controlled by your unadulterated adoration for the man by your side.

 

 

“Please, I could want no less.” You whimpered. “But I cannot. My affliction cannot be changed, Loki. I am a lost cause.”

 

 

The dark prince paused in his weeping, eyes still red and gleaming, and his grip tightened.

 

 

“But it would. The pain would be removed and I could woo you to love me.” The desperation hung heavy on his tongue. “To see me like you see another.  _Anything_  to have you here beside me.”

 

 

Your eyes brimmed with tears and shook your head, “It would not, Loki. I am sorry.” The tears fell from your eyes once more, hoping that the prince would ignore the depths of your words and allow you peace in these last few hours. Hoping Loki would just stay and hold your hand as you stared at his charming face and the flowers overtook your system. Hoping he would allow you the peace in dying with your unrequited love by your side.

 

 

You turned and met the glistening green that formed his irises.

 

 

He whispered your name.

 

 

“Why would it not work?” The manner of his tone was light and held an air of desperation, passing completely undetected by your shame and fear of Loki’s rejection.

 

 

“Loki, please.”

 

 

The prince met your eyes again, resolve steeled and stubborn. His demeanour changed from soft and broken into something purely anger-driven and dripping with anguish.

 

 

“Say it.”

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

His face scrunched into a scowl and the words seethed from his lips, “Say it or I swear on Hel that I shall join you in Valhalla more quickly than you would prefer.” The contrast of his words to the tender touch upon your cheeks went unnoticed as the air stilled.

 

 

You gasped.

 

 

“I can’t.”

 

 

“You can.”

 

 

His eyes met yours and softened from their harsh glare.

 

 

“Just tell me.” He pleaded.

 

 

“And what if I do?” You snapped, overwhelmed and tired. “What would it do? All my words would fall flat. Nothing can prevent the inevitable, Loki.” You wheezed and another petal fell onto the sheets. “I could think of nothing worse to confess whilst I die.”

 

 

Your name passed from his lips once more and your resolve fell flat.

 

 

Bittersweet tears fell.

 

 

“For I know that you could never – “ A hiccup. “You could never love me as I have loved you.”

 

 

Silence.

 

 

Your lips trembled at their confession and your arms cocooned your body in a wall of safety.

 

 

Shock.

 

 

Realisation.

 

 

 _Anger_.

 

 

A snarl erupted from the dark prince as the words registered and Loki moved suddenly, gripping your hair tightly and tugging you into an upright position. Eyes level and noses touching. The heavy breathes he released met yours in equal equilibrium and the tears that once flooded your features dried to salted crystals. His eyes seemed to swallow you whole with their intensity.

 

 

“It is me.”

 

 

You refused to reply.

 

 

 _“I_  caused this and you refused to tell me out of fear of rejection?!” The silence swallowed you whole. “And you dare claim,” the God panted like an animal, “that I have never loved you. That I would not die for you?!”

 

 

His roar welcomed an unsettled silence as Loki’s last words ricocheted off the surrounding walls.

 

 

“Are you so dim-witted to believe that I do not love you, my dearest friend? My  _ástvinur_? The woman who has been my closest companion for years,” his angered tone began to elevate into a distressed wail, “The person who I have voiced all my deepest desires and fears to for years. Who I whispered secrets to every night before we fell asleep as children and those rare evenings as adults, where we hid in the darkest swells of the library? Did you think they meant nothing to me – that – that I was incapable of calling you mine when I never let my eyes wander elsewhere? That my heart has not resided with you since we were barely teenagers?”

 

 

His voice echoed with the insecurity of his past and heritage.

 

 

“It should have been me. I was surprised to have never developed flowers but I suppose it is the curse of a Jötunn. But to have you hiding chest flowers – violets.  _Our_  flower.”

 

 

“Loki – “

 

 

“No!” His snarled deepened. “You are not allowed to cut me off, blóm. Not now – not ever. We are having a serious discussion and I will not allow you to cause my attention to stray, especially when it concerns your physical and mental health.” Loki shifted and cradled you against his chest, inhaling your scent as warmth encompassed your beings.

 

 

“Who sat by your side during the dragon pox plague? Even though mother insisted on separating us, especially as neither you nor I had received the vaccine. And who waltzed with you every night leading up to your first ball, all so you could impress my brother and his loathsome friends?” His words spat and curled in your chest, forming the clawed fingers of an ill-used dagger. “And who insisted on your beauty each time your eyes fell upon a poorly lit mirror? When you were tired or racked with fears. By Odi - !”

 

 

“Loki, please.” The plea fell quietly from your lips, accompanied by the painful shocks of vines encasing your chest cavity – the purple petals proceeding to land on your bottom lip. “It will only make this worse.”

 

 

The prince’s hand clenched and he shoved himself closer.

 

 

“How dare you never speak of your ailment, especially when I was the cause.” His voice had begun to break. “Were you ashamed to have fallen in love with a frost giant? An estranged prince of Jötunheimr. Or was your pride too swelled to accept the fate that had been bestowed upon you – taunting me with false ideals of a life that you claim to want but are too selfish to take.”

 

 

Guilt joined the painful jolts of flowers.

 

 

“I do want it – I want _you_. I have since we were merely teenagers, barely scrapping seven-hundred,” you begged and nursed the sharp lines of Loki’s face. “And I assure you, nothing changed when your true heritage came to the light. But we cannot, Loki. It is one thing to be your best friend but it is wholly different to be your lover! We would never be accepted by polite society and I would damage your reputation more than I already have.” The pain of the flowers caused you to pull away and retch the god-awful petals from your system as Loki sat by your side.

 

 

His hand remained steady on your back.

 

 

“And what? You believe that your position as my mother’s lady-in-waiting immediately diminishes our hopes of happiness and marriage. That your years of advanced tutoring and close relations to the princes of Asgardr did not hint at other opportunities rather than my mother’s ward?” His husked voice taunted you, anger still flooding the prince’s system but overcome by remorse as more petals fell from your lips.

 

 

“I have pined and wished and begged for your attention for centuries,” he whispered and settled a hand on your chest, wishing away the blossoms that resided in your lungs as his tears fell once more. “During my younger years, you were all I could think about. Your presence filled my dreams and captured my attention in thoughts that were not of my own will, but my heart’s.”

 

 

“I have adored you since we were children and I fear I will adore you forever, blóm. Wherever you go, I will be quick to follow,” he whispered and your eyes filled with tears which were reciprocated in Loki’s deep green irises. “Whether that is Hel, Asgardr or Vanaheimr. So please, say you love me. Let me kiss you and proclaim my love so that your body may heal. Let the healers aid you – let me court you properly and we shall wed during the summer when the apples are ripe and the flowers are in full bloom, just like you have always wished. I will even allow Thor to attend.”

 

 

“Your father – “

 

 

“Forgotten. The damned engagement? Broken. It is never to be mentioned again. I had not consented at the time of the announcement and I will not consent now or ever. In the end, Odin is forgotten. His opinion is unnecessary and unwanted. But know that my mother and Thor would want nothing more than for you to live and bless our lives. Bless  _mine_.” The prince grasped you tighter and shook, breathing in hard and broken gasps through the waves of heartbroken pain. “Bless me with your presence every morning and every night. Bless me with the honour of your first dance at every ball and your first kiss each day. Bless me with your hand in mine when we take our vows and I claim you as my wife and eternal lover. Bless me with the children we always dreamed about, even if those specific dreams were kept quiet from one another.”

 

 

“You are my darling. My  _kærasta._ My beloved. I have never strayed from your side in our lives and I have vowed to protect you with every fibre of my being, such was the promise when were children. So, please. Please just say you love me so that you can be cured. None of this absurd fear of disapproval from my parents or from society. We could go live wherever you like, as long as you just accept my love and take my being as yours. Any doubt of my dedication – my adoration for you – I will diminish with every step I take with you by my side.”

 

 

“I am so entirely and deeply in love with you. And I know that I could never love another as I have loved you. No other Asgardian. No Jötunn. No Midgardian. No elf. No one but you. So please, just say you love me and allow me the reprieve of kissing your aching lips. To still those growing flowers and have them shrivel up and die. To let you  _live_.”

 

 

“ _Loki_.”

 

 

His eyes begged – pleaded for your attention and love. For your life and fate. For your future and his.

 

 

Tears swelled once more.

 

 

The suffocation of flowers was nothing compared to the suffocation of your love for him.

 

 

“I love you.” Loki’s eyes met yours firmly and the words fell from his lip like a prayer. “I love you now and I will love you forever more. Those cruel flowers can curse themselves from existence because this love – it is not unrequited. I adore you. I  _love_  you. My existence is nothing without you by my side. Whilst I would not cease to be if you died, I would cease to live. Nothing would be worth my time besides seeking out your body to hold once more and joining you in whichever realm you may return in.”

 

 

He leant his head against your forehead.

 

 

“ _Please_.”

 

 

“Loki.”

 

 

The silence no longer felt suffocating as Loki's eyes gazed into yours with heavy tears and coated with anguish. With adoration. 

 

 

_With love._

 

 

"But, the kingdom - !"

 

 

"The kingdom would rejoice in our union. You cannot say that others have not hinted at my affection for you, surely. Their approval and light teasing of our status."

 

 

"But your chance at king - "

 

 

Loki's face nuzzled into your open palm. "I'd much rather have you as my Queen and myself as your King, rather than acting as King for the people when the only Asgardian I truly love no longer lives. We are both very much aware that I am best fit for Royal advisor, anyway." He kissed your thumb, watery eyes trained upon your tearful gaze. "And what is a kingdom without a voice of reason to prevent the advisor from wondering astray? Without the woman he  _loves_?" Loki's voice wavered.

 

 

"Loki..."

 

 

"Darling," the prince's lips lifted from your hand and his head came to rest sweetly against your own. "I am as much yours as you are mine. Perhaps, for far longer. Please -  _Please_  don't make me live through a lifetime without you by my side." He chuckled, hollowly, "I do not think I would survive without your chaise reprimands and omnipotent glares to stifle my foul words. Without your laughter when we dance and the manner in which your head lolls when my words cause bouts of laughter until you are heaving for breath. Without your light touches and warm hugs and love for the gardens and apples and people. Without your mischievous nature and quick steps and lillied lips where sweet truths fall from."

 

 

The tears streamed down your hollowed cheeks.

 

 

"Without your small hand swallowed in my own. Without our trips to steal cakes and pastries. To hide in the library where we spend hours reading, talking and reminiscing. Without your presence at balls and banquets. Without your body next to mine at a dance or during a journey. Without your teasing and smiles and tears and laughter."

 

 

Loki hushed your bubbling sobs.

 

 

"No more tears, my dear," he begged and all traces of anger and anguish washed from his features. "No more tears, dear love. I have not seen your smile in weeks and I do not wish to see you cry ever again. I am here for you. You are safe. I love you." He repeated once more and his irises bore into your own - light bouncing off his whites and causing a sheen of watered shimmers to envelope his gaze.

 

 

Loki Odinson - Laufeyson -  _Friggason_.

 

 

God of mischief.

 

 

God of lies and chaos.

 

 

God of your heart.

 

 

His words were always used to deceive, but you had come to understand that his best tricks were that of the truth. And in his tears and kisses and soft whispers, your heart lapsed into a deeper admiration for the prince who knelt before you, his hair slowly falling from its bun and the skin cracking further around his eyes, possibly burning from the salt that seeped into the wounds, and his shaking hands - which had not stopped since he had first hugged you - made your heart beat alongside the thoughts scattered between your beliefs.

 

 

You were a common woman.

 

 

Nothing of title.

 

 

Nothing of land or heritage.

 

 

But Loki's eyes -

 

 

His heart -

 

 

Your breath hitched at Loki's lidded gaze and the tears began to stream once more. The words formed outside of your conscious desire and without a moment's pause, you whispered the plead, “Kiss me,” and watched as realisation sunk into the prince’s features. Your hand met his own trembling palm and the dried crystals transformed into streams of sorrow and joy, “Kiss me, Loki. Please. Please.  _Please_ , just kiss me, my other. Make it stop. Marry me. Love me. Have me bear your children. Have me as your wife to love and to hold. Never leave me whilst I live. Please, Loki. My love. My darling. My soulmate. My other half. The man who has been mine for the past seven hundred years. You’re right,” you laughed pathetically, “You are always right. So, by Frigga’s command,  _kiss me_.”

 

 

Loki barely allowed you the grace of finishing the sentence.

 

 

You were overwhelmed by the heat of the kiss – the coolness of Loki’s skin, the desperation on his lips laden by years of pining and secret glances from between handwritten pages and ballroom dances. The bittersweet taste of salted tears and the sugary relief of finally accepting the entirety of your feelings.

 

 

Your hands sunk deep within the rich waves of your beloved’s hair and Loki moaned. His hands had come to rest on the side of your neck and the other squashed between your back and the bedsheets. They refused to remain still as Loki traced the entirety of your being – treating this like the first and last time he would ever touch you. He could not quieten his noises and aimed to elicit the same reactions in turn.

 

 

You noticed as the kiss proceeded that there was a sudden ease to your breathing and a comfort which stemmed from laying in Loki’s arms. Your chest ached slightly but nothing like it did moments ago. There was no phantom tickling at the back of your throat and your lungs no longer felt as if they would tear themselves apart. The sinking sensation that often overwhelmed your being when asleep was absent also, and you rejoiced at the gorgeous freedom from your curse.  

 

 

With this realisation, you tugged harder at Loki’s hair and pulled him onto the bed, failing to hide your amusement when he moaned lavishly and tumbled over his own feet to avoid missing the mattress. There was a slight bounce as Loki made contact with the bed and you failed to hide your relief and desire at the sudden turn of events – turning to lavish his jaw with kisses and drawing him into a deep and heartfelt kiss that left both of you breathless.

 

 

Loki looked at you with lidded eyes, both surprised at your dominance but not unhappy, as shown by his self-satisfied smile.

 

 

“Better, my love?”

 

 

You kissed his cheek. “Always, my prince.”

 

 

 “Wonderful.” He panted and squeezed your hand, just like he used to do as children. “Again?”

 

 

You smiled, tears brimming with joy, and kissed Loki once more, just as he asked.

 

 

“I love you, Loki.”

 

 

His tears joined yours.

 

 

“I love you too, my dear blóm.”

 

 

And you smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. THE END. YAY! LOKI GOT THE GIRL AND SHE DIDN'T DIE. hahaha I'm sorry if anyone cried. I cried writing this chapter. Loki's declarations of love were just too much for me to write.
> 
> 2\. There will be a prologue! However, it will be a lot more, uhm, _mature,_ compared to the rest of the piece and i will be tagging the kinks when it is uploaded. So keep an eye out for the tags! haha you can probably guess one of the kinks by reading this chapter... yeah. yeah, you can.
> 
> 3\. Frigga knew what was going to happen from the start! She always knew! And I love a sassy allmother. She's so done with Odin's shit. We stan a literal queen.
> 
> 4\. I love comments!! Send me comments!! I will reply to every single one of them!!!
> 
> 5\. Find me on Tumblr: http://goldtrimmedspectacle.tumblr.com/
> 
> 6\. Buy me a kofi? - https://www.ko-fi.com/A045L7I


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